The Silence of Silence
by your.kat
Summary: Quinn and Rachel meet at Haverbrook under unusual circumstances. Why is Rachel silent? And why does Quinn care? "You can hear," Quinn said simply, "but can you speak?"; "Yes," Rachel signed. "I can speak. But silence is a friend who will never betray."
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or __Tuesdays with Morrie__._

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn Fabray pulled her bag up higher on her shoulder. Her pace was brisk. It was her first day, and she really didn't want to be late.

There were two cars that paused in their forward progression as she walked through the crosswalk. She waved politely at them, thankful that they had stopped so she didn't have to.

She entered the dark red double doors of the building and made her way to the office. It was the same office where she had first interviewed for the job position. They had loved everything about her – from her pristine university grade point and her perfectly styled blonde locks to her kind smile and her comprehensive knowledge of sign language.

Quinn Fabray was the perfect addition to the faculty of the Haverbrook School for the Deaf.

"Good morning," the secretary spoke as well as signed to Quinn.

With her lips lilting upward into a friendly smile, Quinn returned the greeting with her words and with her hands. "Good morning!"

There was _something_ about the quietness as Quinn turned and headed towards her new classroom. Her sensible heels clicked methodically against the cool, hard tile underneath her feet and there was a slight rustle as her bag rubbed against the fabric of her skirt. And as she rounded the corner from the office and into one of the main hallways, there were also the sounds of a few of the students who had arrived to school early. But the noise they created consisted of scuffling shoes and closing lockers and not much else.

There most definitely was _something_ about the quietness. But Quinn couldn't tell if it was eerie or comforting.

She stopped in front of the door with the plaque that read "Room 107" and took a deep breath in through her nose before turning the handle and walking inside. The smile that crossed her face was entirely involuntary, though welcome. Her classroom - which she had spent the previous afternoon in, putting up posters and finalizing lesson plans - felt homey enough to appease a handful of the nerves that were tugging violently at the insides of her stomach.

Quinn stepped smartly across the room to her desk where she deposited her bag. She pulled out her desk chair and took a seat, turning her computer on for the day. Opening the top right drawer of her desk, she pulled out her personal copy of the book, Tuesdays with Morrie. Reverently, her fingers skimmed over the cover.

She glanced at the clock. Her first class would begin in less than fifteen minutes. Quinn quickly stood and approached her bookshelf, picking up a stack of copies of the same book that was now stowed carefully back in her desk drawer. She had just begun placing a book on the surface of each desk in the U-shaped configuration in the center of her room when the door swung open.

"Good morning, Mrs. Fabray!"

Quinn turned her body towards the newcomer, and she immediately recognized Mr. Rumba, the choir director and history teacher from down the hall. They had run into each other the day previous, both preparing for the first day of school of the semester at Haverbrook.

"Good morning, Mr. Rumba. And actually, it's just 'Miss', not 'Missus'." The words left Quinn's lips with a smile.

"Ahh, of course. I must not have heard you properly yesterday! Scarlet fever when I was a child, you know. Completely deaf in this ear!" he yelled, pointing towards his left ear.

Quinn nodded. "Yes," she politely replied, her tone even and her smile kind. "I do remember that."

"Well," Mr. Rumba continued to speak quite loudly. "I just wanted to come by and wish you good luck with your first classes here at Haverbrook!"

Quinn smiled and thanked him before he turned and walked back out into the hallway. "More like my first classes _ever_," Quinn mumbled to herself under her breath when he was gone. She had student-taught for her last semester at Ohio State, sure. But this was different. This wasn't a test run or a trial with do-overs. This was the real deal. No turning back.

Quinn uncapped a red dry-erase marker and began to write her name on the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. Her strokes against the board were smooth and beautifully rounded and before long, the words "_Miss Quinn Fabray_" resided elegantly on its surface.

The handle of the door turned as Quinn finished writing "_Senior English_" underneath her name. She recapped her marker and turned to her first student. It was a tall boy with short hair and an adorable smile.

"Good morning," Quinn signed. But she also spoke the words. It was a habit from her childhood that was largely unnecessary in a setting such as this, a school for the deaf. But old habits die hard, and Quinn wasn't necessarily attempting to change this one.

_Good morning_, the student signed back. His eyes crinkled, his smile was so wide. _You're very beautiful_, he added.

Quinn laughed. "Thank you," she replied. "You're very sweet. What's your name?"

_Patrick_. And then he ducked his head cutely before taking a seat in a desk near Quinn's own.

Soon, her entire first period class - consisting of twelve students - was seated and all eyes were astutely trained on the young teacher. Quinn glanced up at the clock and began her introductions as soon as the clock struck 8:25.

"Good morning everyone," she began. "I am Miss Fabray, and I'm going to be your senior English teacher this year. I would like to go around the room and have each of us introduce ourselves since I'm new here." There were nods around the circle. "First, I'll tell you a little bit about myself. I recently graduated from Ohio State University where I studied education, English, and history. I have a minor in music. I love reading and sharing my passion for great books with as many people as I can, and my favorite color is yellow."

Quinn smiled encouragingly at Patrick - the closest student to her - and soon he was introducing himself as well. This trend continued around the circle until Quinn had met all of her students.

"Great," she continued to smile brightly through her words. "Now, I'd like to get started on a project that we are going to work on all semester long. There's this great book called Tuesdays with Morrie, and what I'd like to do is this..."

* * *

Quinn was ecstatic. Sure, she had spent the past five years of her life preparing to be a teacher. She had taken the classes and learned the material; she had suffered through the exams and the studies that had seemed irrelevant at the time. But here Quinn was - getting ready for her fourth class on her first day of teaching - and she felt as if not a single second of those previous five years was wasted in the slightest.

It was a euphoric feeling, really, to communicate with her students and to teach them and to ignite within them a passion for learning. She was teaching English here at Haverbrook even though she was technically qualified to teach a variety of subjects. But something about teaching English was kind of a relief for Quinn - because she had always loved English most of all, and there really _was_ something exciting about sharing great books with others.

Quinn felt like a total nerd.

She began placing another set of books out on the desks as the next class of students made their way into her room. There were fewer students in her fourth hour; only six. And before long, five of the six had made their way into desks. They were all smiling politely or grinning shyly towards Quinn as she waved kindly to each of them in turn.

Finally, the clock rolled around to 11:09 - one minute before class was to begin - when the door opened and Quinn's final student walked hastily inside.

Quinn looked back down at the form she had previously been filling in at her desk. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she couldn't really explain to herself why. But there was _something_ about the girl who had just walked in - and it wasn't her shorter than average skirt, her meticulously tucked in shirt, or her long flowing brown tresses... It was her eyes. As soon as the girl had stepped into the room, her eyes had locked with Quinn's for the briefest of moments before shifting away as she moved to an unoccupied desk.

The clock turned over to 11:10, and Quinn stood up, smoothing out her pencil skirt as she made her way to the front of her classroom. She introduced herself again, as she had with her other classes, before asking each of the students in turn to introduce themselves as well. And when she finally came to the girl who had walked in last - who was curiously sitting a good distance away from any of the other students in the room - Quinn paid astute attention. Sure, she had watched as all of her other students had introduced themselves all morning long (hell, she had already memorized everyone's names so far). But she found herself hanging on every movement of this girl's hands.

_My name is Rachel Berry_, she signed. And while the other seniors in the room had mentioned sports they liked to play or their favorite movies or books of all time, this Rachel girl left it at that. Just her name. And then she immediately opened up her notebook and looked expectantly at Quinn, prepared to learn.

There was no simple way for Quinn to hide her surprise at the girl's succinctness. Quinn liked to think that the enthusiasm she felt and thusly displayed while teaching was contagious for her students; in fact, this had been the case so far with her first three classes - everyone had become so involved with wanting to know more about everything Quinn said that great discussions had taken place. But Rachel didn't seem interested in sharing facts about herself in the slightest.

So while Quinn may not have been able to fully hide her moment of surprise at coming up empty handed in the department of learning more about this girl - this girl to whom Quinn felt an inexplicable pull - she carried on as usual.

Quinn explained what the book Tuesdays with Morrie was about. "It's this great story about a young man who reunited with one of his professors from college years after having graduated. They hadn't talked to each other in almost two decades. And when they met again, the student found out that his professor was dying from Lou Gehrig's disease..."

Soon, Quinn launched into the outline for the project that each student would be completing by the end of the semester. "You're each going to write your own version of Tuesdays with Morrie. You're going to choose someone inspirational in your own life - a teacher, a family member, a best friend. Someone who you look up to and respect, someone who has made you who you are today..."

Her hands moved quickly with her explanation. Her words tumbled from her lips as her enthusiasm took over. As she spoke, her eyes would flit from one student's face to the next.

And every other time her eyes landed on Rachel, confusion would settle heavily in Quinn's chest. Because while most of the students stared intently at Quinn and her gracefully moving hands, Rachel was almost always looking down at her notebook, scribbling away, her chestnut locks falling into her face. Quinn watched as her delicate hand gently tucked some hair back behind her ear. She never stopped writing.

Quinn had a hunch. She wasn't particularly slow, after all. But she _was_ teaching at a school for the deaf. So she had to handle the situation as delicately as she could.

So as the clock turned to 12:00, Quinn dismissed her class and immediately turned to the whiteboard, starting to erase all of the information she had written there. Her students were putting away their pens and notebooks and placing their bags over their shoulders, preparing to leave, when Quinn simply said, "Rachel, stay behind a moment if you don't mind, please." She was nervous as she said the words, and she was relieved when her voice didn't waver.

Quinn placed the eraser back in the tray and turned back to the classroom at large, waving goodbye to the students who were leaving, before leveling her gaze on Rachel.

And the girl was staring back at her with an indiscernible expression on her face. Quinn lowered her gaze respectfully before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of a desk next to the one Rachel was still firmly planted in. Quinn had already let out a breath of relief at the realization that her assumption was correct.

"You can hear," Quinn said simply. So she asked the next logical question in her mind. "Can you speak?"

Rachel looked down at her closed notebook, tracing one of her fingers down the metal rings on the outside of it. When she looked back up, Quinn was taken aback by the hostility she saw in Rachel's eyes. _Don't you think that's a pretty insensitive question?_ Rachel signed furiously, attitude lacing every movement of her hands. Her sharply raised eyebrow and simmering brown eyes were indicative of her annoyance. But Quinn wasn't sure if it was annoyance that Rachel's ability to hear had been found out or annoyance that Quinn really had been so insensitive as to ask in the first place.

Quinn bit her lip and placed her fingertips to her chin as she contemplated Rachel's response. "You're right," Quinn said while simultaneously signing the words again. "It was insensitive of me. I apologize."

Rachel reached down and picked up her bag. She slipped her notebook inside and stood up. Quinn stood up as well, and she noted that Rachel was quite a bit shorter than her - the top of her head barely coming up in front of Quinn's line of sight. Rachel smoothed out her own skirt, mimicking Quinn's action from earlier, before nodding in Quinn's direction and heading towards the door.

But before she left the room, she turned on her heel back towards Quinn with a bashful expression on her face. Quinn almost let out a sigh of relief that Rachel no longer seemed angry or frustrated with her. Which was silly, right? Rachel was the student here, after all, not Quinn. Rachel bit her lip before signing the words, _That was rude of me. You asked a legitimate question._

The surprises this girl was full of were probably bad for Quinn's rapidly beating heart. She was opening her mouth to disagree with Rachel, but the girl cut her off as she began to sign again.

_Yes_, Rachel said. _I can speak_. She paused, working her lip roughly between her teeth before quickly adding, _But silence is a friend who will never betray._

And before the information could properly process in Quinn's mind, Rachel was gone.

Quinn's mouth was parted slightly and her head was tilted to the side in confusion as she found herself alone in her classroom. So Rachel could hear; that much, Quinn had figured out on her own. And she could also speak; that much, she had told Quinn herself. As Quinn walked over to her desk, she simply couldn't ignore the pounding of her heart in her chest and the inexplicable desire to learn more about Rachel Berry.

And as Quinn sat at her desk throughout her planning period with her head resting on her open palm and her pen drumming against her desktop calendar, one question was resounding loudly - over and over again - in her mind:

_If she __**can**__ speak, why does she choose not to?_

Quinn was determined to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn sat at the small kitchen table. A pair of reading glasses was perched daintily on her nose and a steaming mug of tea was grasped in both of her hands. She took a sip of the hot liquid and let it burn a delicious path down her throat before sitting it to one side, careful to avoid her meticulously stacked papers.

Earlier that day, Quinn had collected her first writing assignment from her students for the Tuesdays with Morrie project. The overall goal of the project was to create their own version of the book that was focused around someone they looked up to, someone influential or noteworthy in their life. Every week, a new section of the book would be turned in for Quinn's reading and editing with the goal that, by the end of the semester, each student would have enough material to put together their own 'book'. This week, Quinn had instructed them all to write a vignette about the earliest memory they could conjure up of their personal 'Morrie' character.

Picking up the first paper in front of her, Quinn began to read…

_My Uncle Jimmy was always goofing off with me. He was like the father I never had. That Christmas, I remember waking up early and running down the stairs…_

…And so Quinn learned a little bit more about each of her students in turn. She would correct grammar and spelling, she would recommend additional work, and she would praise her students. And it was at some point during Quinn's flow of productivity that the front door opened and closed and the shuffling feet of another person echoed through the quiet apartment.

When Quinn found out she would be moving to the greater Lima area to take the job at Haverbrook, one of her first concerns had been living arrangements. She wasn't from Lima; she had never really even heard of it except in its adjacency to the school for the deaf. But one of her professors who had taken a keen interest in her and her talents as an educator put her in touch with an old college buddy of his who lived in the Lima area. '_The eternal bachelor_,' Professor Ryan had chuckled as he wrote down a phone number for Quinn on a post-it note.

So Quinn had called the number and arranged to have coffee with this _William Schuester_ character Professor Ryan had told her about one Saturday afternoon. When he had walked in – with his curly hair and his dimple-inducing smile and his well-worn vest – Quinn had smiled in return and stood to greet him, shaking his hand and introducing herself. And she had known within just a few minutes that this could easily work. He was jovial and kind, he had a spare bedroom, and he was ever-willing to extend the hand of friendship to a friend of a friend.

They had worked out an agreement and Quinn moved into Mr. Schuester's ("Call me 'Will'!" he would say time after time, "You're going to make me feel so _old_!") apartment a couple of months before school was scheduled to start. She paid half of the rent and utilities each month, and they quickly developed a symbiotic relationship. Quinn's initial impression of Will as a kind soul was proven to be quite accurate: as a fellow teacher, Quinn was pleasantly surprised that he talked fondly of his students (past and present), and he was always considerate of Quinn as his subleter.

Quinn took another sip of her tea, surprised that it had cooled as much as it had – but the time had passed by quickly as she graded her students' papers.

Will walked into the room, loosening his tie as he made a beeline for the fridge. "Evening, Quinn!" he greeted, a brilliant smile on his face. Quinn wasn't sure why he was still single. "How are you?"

Quinn pulled one knee up to her chest after she sat her tea back down, turning slightly in her chair to better see and talk to Will. He was currently hidden behind the refrigerator door as he leant down to retrieve a beer from inside. "I'm great," Quinn replied, her voice soft. "Just grading my first assignment, _ever_."

Will's head popped out from behind the fridge with his smile still firmly intact. "That's exciting!" he exclaimed. When Quinn just chuckled lightly and ducked her head, Will asked, "You _are_ excited, right?"

"Oh, definitely!" Quinn was quick to reassure. "It just feels so surreal. I've wanted to be a teacher for as long as I can remember, and now here I am – connecting with students and giving them assignments and _grading_ those assignments." She laughed again. "Wow, I can only imagine that I sound like a _complete_ nerd right now."

Will moved forward and took a seat across the table from Quinn. She again shifted to face him, placing her chin on her knee. He grinned and took a sip of his drink. "You don't sound like a nerd. You sound like an educator."

More pleasantries were exchanged and takeout was ordered from the Thai place a few blocks away when Will asked, "So, why Haverbrook? Bryan mentioned that you've wanted to work at that school for as long as he's known you."

Quinn stood in front of the stove where she was placing the kettle to boil some more water for tea, and she smiled fondly at the thought of Professor Ryan. He had been like something of her personal Morrie in her college years. "Yes, the school's reputation precedes itself in the state of Ohio. It's the best school for the deaf in the area, and I've wanted to work there – in any capacity, really – for as long as I've known about its existence. Probably since my senior year in high school or so."

"But why that school specifically?" Will asked from his chair. "Why a school for the deaf?"

Quinn paused before answering. Her back was still turned to the room at large, so Will missed the action of her pensively biting the inside of her cheek as she considered how to best answer his question. She was spared from immediately answering when the doorbell rang.

"Sounds like dinner's here! I'll get it," Will said, hopping up and extracting his wallet from his back pocket to pay for their takeout. When he returned, they divvied up their meals and sat down to eat; Quinn with another hot cup of tea and Will with another beer.

A few minutes after they started eating, Quinn finally spoke. "My brother," she said softly between bites.

Will looked up at her from across the table, eyebrows slightly raised in question. "I'm sorry?"

Quinn shook her head in slight embarrassment (for a reason that she couldn't pinpoint). "You asked why I wanted to teach at a school like Haverbrook. It's because of my brother." Will nodded his head once as a look of understanding crossed his face. "He was born with congenital hearing loss. I was really young, only three and a half years old, but my mom told me all about them realizing that he had some kind of issue with his ears. They would drop things or a door would slam and Caleb wouldn't even flinch." Quinn's eyes glossed over slightly as she stared across the room at a blank wall, mental images flitting across the landscape of her mind.

"So they took him to a specialist only to realize that he had zero ability to hear in either of his ears. My parents had some tests run, and they found out that Mom was a carrier for a recessive x-linked hearing loss gene – which was why _I_ could hear, but Caleb couldn't."

The mood was suddenly somber. Quinn took another bite and chewed around the vegetables in her mouth and the guilt in her stomach. The guilt surfaced anytime she considered how easily it could have been _her_ instead of her baby brother who was born deaf, if only the circumstances were altered the slightest bit. A thin line to be tread. Her parents had never even considered having another child.

"I'm sorry to hear that about your brother, Quinn," Will finally spoke up. "But was it difficult on your family?"

Quinn nodded her head as she continued to chew and contemplate her words. She swallowed and took a sip of her drink before leaning back and taking a deep breath.

"It was definitely difficult on my parents. And as I got older, a lot of that was reflected back in their treatment of me. My mom suffered from depression on and off for as long as I can remember, but she always tried to put a happy face on around Caleb. Though she didn't really try so hard with me – it didn't help that I could hear the tone of her voice when she would snap or lose it or just give up. And my dad never really became proficient at signing – he was stubborn and an asshole. I should probably thank him though, because his stubbornness is part of the reason that I really excelled at it myself. It's also the reason that I talk openly when I sign – it seems like I was always having to act as translator between Dad and Caleb."

She shook her head and tried to rid her thoughts of disgust towards her father and frustration towards her mother. Old wounds didn't need to be disturbed; it wouldn't lead to anything good.

"And your brother now?" Will asked. His voice was gentle. He knew he was prodding.

A smile covered Quinn's face. "He's in college. A university in D.C. where he's studying all things artistic. That definitely made our old man proud."

Will chuckled along with Quinn as he studied her face. It was apparent that she loved her brother. "Do you get to talk to – uhh… Do you get to _communicate_ with him very often?"

"Yeah, we Skype at least once a week." Quinn supplied in answer to Will's question, but she left it short and simple as she sat forward in her chair and proceeded to finish her dinner. Despite the intimate details she had just spared about her life with the man sitting across from her, Quinn wasn't the type of person to normally be so _open_ with other people. Her cheeks began to flush as the full realization of her ramblings sunk in.

It had been a long time since she had last put herself in a position to be so vulnerable.

"Here, let me take that for you," she said as she stood, reaching to grab their dirty dishes and take them to the sink. It had become commonplace; whoever paid for dinner didn't have to do dishes. Quinn took it as an ideal opportunity to move away from the now-awkward bubble of the kitchen table.

"Thanks, Quinn," Will said as he leaned back in his chair. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna go catch the rest of the game," he said, gesturing towards the living room.

Quinn dismissed him with a wave of her soap-covered hand over her shoulder. "Sure," she said. She needed to finish grading her papers anyway.

After the dishes were washed and placed in the drying rack, Quinn wiped her hands off on a dishtowel and headed back to the kitchen table. The sounds of a football game on the television in the other room softly carried into the kitchen as she finished reading her students' vignettes. Finally, with the last paper set to the side, Quinn opened her laptop to input the completion grades into her gradebook.

She entered grade after grade and, before long, there was a column of 'C's for 'completed'. However, there was one blank space in her list of students. Quinn removed her glasses and placed the end of the earpiece delicately between her lips as she continued to stare at the screen.

_Rachel Berry_.

Rachel was always diligently taking notes. She didn't seem like the type of student to neglect an assignment. Quinn chewed on the end of her glasses for a few moments longer, contemplating the situation, before she closed her laptop and headed into her bedroom. Come fourth period Monday, Quinn would ask Rachel about her failure to turn in the assignment.

* * *

Aside from the Tuesdays with Morrie project Quinn was working on with her senior English students, she had also started them on the regular syllabus for the course. The major theme was one that Quinn hoped would tie in nicely with the Morrie Project: Your Past, Your Future. She was having her students ask themselves, '_Who am I?_' and '_What has made me the person I am?_' and '_Where am I going?_' and '_What is my place in the world?_' And along with the sometimes-hard-to-ask questions, Quinn was stressing literature, writing, and grammar components. These kids would soon be going out into the real world outside of the cozy little home they had known for a huge part of their lives, Haverbrook. And sometimes the difficult questions were the only ones you really needed answers for anyway.

So she had passed out copies of Death of a Salesman and explained their first unit to each of her classes throughout the day. Her students had been receptive to the book, though they had been more receptive to the fact that they would be watching the film later in the week.

Her fourth hour kids began packing up their bags, eager to get to lunch, when Quinn had spoken and signed, "Rachel, please stay behind a moment." Rachel had merely nodded while the other kids who had noticed gave her the customary playful teasing at having been asked to stay behind after class. Rachel rolled her eyes back (also playfully) with a small grin on her lips.

But as the last students left and she found herself alone with Miss Fabray, the grin slowly slid off of her face. _What can I do for you?_ Rachel questioned her teacher as she approached Quinn's desk, taking a seat on the edge of the nearest table with her ankles crossed and dangling a few inches above the floor.

Quinn's hands moved quickly, precisely. "I graded the Morrie assignments that were due last Friday." Rachel nodded her head in understanding, her eyes only momentarily shifting down to the floor before locking instantly back onto Quinn's lips. "Is there a reason that I didn't get anything from you?" As Quinn spoke, Rachel's eyes never shifted from her mouth. Quinn found it almost disconcerting that the young woman sitting across from her could hold such an intense stare. And Quinn also found it almost silly to continue signing, since Rachel clearly wasn't paying attention to her hands anyway.

Rachel blinked slowly when Quinn stopped talking, and her eyes finally moved up to Quinn's. Rachel's lips parted, and Quinn involuntarily held her breath. And then Rachel closed her lips and began to sign. _I apologize for not turning in the assignment, but from what I gather, we will eventually have to interview the person we're writing about._ Quinn nodded as Rachel continued. _I don't have a Morrie_, she emphatically signed while shrugging her shoulders._ I don't have someone I can interview. All I have are childhood memories and broken promises._

Quinn found herself in an all too familiar position – one in which she was taken aback by Rachel's blunt (almost hostile) attitude. The _something_ that was hidden just beneath Rachel's silence was _right there_ under the surface; Quinn could almost reach out and touch it, she could almost _hear it_ as it ached to be released. "There's no one in your life," Quinn asked, "you would want to interview? No one at all who has inspired you or challenged you? The project is about recognizing a person in your life who has made you who you are. I think we all have such a person. And I think you have a Morrie as well, you're just not digging deep enough."

Quinn knew she was pushing it. She didn't know Rachel. She didn't know Rachel's story. But she had been pushed by just enough people early on in her life to accept a lot of things about herself and her family and the world at large so that she _knew_ she couldn't stop pushing Rachel now that she had started.

Rachel tucked her chin against her chest and released a long breath of air from her lips after Quinn spoke and before she returned her gaze once more to Quinn's face. And then her hands began to move rapidly and with precision. _Maybe every other student in your classes turned in an assignment because they have a Morrie in their lives. Maybe they've all been inspired. Or maybe some of them were moved by your project while others don't really care in the slightest. For me_, Rachel gestured towards herself with a passion Quinn hadn't seen before from the other girl_, my heart __**aches**__ at the opportunity to be able to write such a stunning tribute for a mentor from my past or my present. But I don't have that person. And I can't pretend to just pick some random friend to write about or some vague family member to pretend to care about enough to interview. _Rachel paused her movements momentarily._ I respect your assignment, and that's why I didn't complete it. _Rachel finally averted her eyes (which had begun to shine brightly with unshed tears) from Quinn's and to the pleats of her skirt._ If I fail, I fail, _she signed without looking up.

Vast silence surrounded them for a long moment as Quinn continued to study Rachel's face, her posture, the way her lips parted as her breath escaped laboriously while she attempted to control her anger or sadness or whatever emotions were coursing through her veins. When a single tear fell from the corner of Rachel's eye to her lap, Quinn watched as one of Rachel's hands moved forward and touched the wetness that had blossomed across the fabric of her skirt. Quinn felt an inexplicable desire to extend some form of comfort.

She stood and walked around her desk before leaning against the same table Rachel was sitting on. A scant few inches separated her thigh from Rachel's. She practically whispered her words (unaccompanied by the movement of her hands), "The way you talk, I feel like there is someone from your past you would be willing to write about, but that they're not with us anymore for whatever reason."

Rachel's forehead twitched and her frown deepened, but she nodded her acquiescence to her teacher's statement.

"This person seems very important to you, Rachel, and you're absolutely right when you refer to this project as a stunning tribute. That's what it is, in every sense of the word." Quinn's voice was delicate as she continued. "One of my favorite teachers I ever had made us do this same project when I was in high school. I wrote about my grandmother. She had cancer at the time of the assignment, so it was very important to me to do the project justice. She beat the cancer, but she passed away just a couple years ago." Rachel looked up at her teacher now, and the roles were entirely reversed; Quinn's eyes swam with tears as Rachel looked on with sincerity. "I will forever be grateful to my teacher for making me complete that assignment because, now, it's one of the only real things of substance I have left of my grandmother."

Quinn breathed into the silence before turning to Rachel and asking, "If I change your requirements slightly later in the project when it comes time for interviews and whatnot, would you be willing to write about this person you have in mind?"

It was only a matter of seconds before Rachel was nodding her agreement and Quinn was attempting to downplay the relief she felt at having settled the matter. Quinn also felt relief that she had spoken words she hadn't spoken to anyone in a very long time, if ever. It felt like a burden had been lifted from her chest, and she made a mental note to reread the Morrie Project she had done back in high school that evening when she got home.

"Ok then," Quinn said, standing and straightening out her blouse as she walked over to the board to erase her notes from the previous class. "Thank you for your time, Rachel. And when you turn in this week's assignment on Friday, turn in the assignment from last week as well, and we'll say we're even."

The soft tapping of Rachel's Mary Janes against the floor put a smile on Quinn's face that she couldn't explain. Rachel grabbed her bag and made her way to the door before turning and facing her teacher.

_Thank you_, she signed.

Quinn placed the eraser in its tray and dusted her hands off. She nodded and signed, _You're welcome_, unaccompanied by vocalization.

_Thank you_, Rachel signed again as if saying it once couldn't possibly express her thanks. Maybe it couldn't.

When the door closed behind Rachel, Quinn made her way back to her desk. She rerolled the pressed sleeves of her long-sleeved button-down shirt as she sat. And, much like after her previous one-on-one encounter with Rachel, Quinn felt a cacophony of questions swimming around in her mind. She was curious about the person Rachel would be writing about. She was interested in every aspect of Rachel's history. Of course, she was still unequivocally confused about Rachel's self-imposed silence. But above all, Quinn couldn't help asking one question of herself…

_Why am I so curious to hear words leave Rachel's lips?_

Quinn gritted her teeth against her racing thoughts and began to write out a detailed lesson plan for the next week. She tried to ignore the sickening pang of guilt she felt as she continued to imagine the long, smooth hair and the sinfully short skirt of Rachel Berry as her fingers typed away at her keyboard.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for your kind responses to the first chapter of this story. For anyone who is reading this after experiencing the relatively frequent updates of 'If the Roles Were Reversed', please understand that updates simply won't be very fast (comparably) for a while because of Real Life. Again, thank you. I hope you've enjoyed this story so far._


	3. Chapter 3

**The Silence of Silence**

_Quinn's fingertips gripped the eraser as she diligently removed any trace of the lecture from her last class of the day. The door opened to her right, but her eyes remained on the board. It was as if she couldn't look away. The soft 'tap tap' of shoes approached. It was the only sound in her world, and it seemed almost oppressive against her eardrums._

_But then the tapping stopped. Quinn looked down, past the edge of her pencil skirt and her black heels to the linoleum floor. The toe of a small shoe was just visible behind her. Suddenly, the lightest grace of fingertips pressed into the material of her shirt just above the waist of her skirt. Quinn shuddered._

_She opened her lips to speak. But even that didn't make sense to Quinn's muddled mind. It was a school for the deaf. No one would hear her. Except __**her**__; she would hear. Was it her? Was it – _

"_Rachel?" Quinn breathed the word into the silence. The fingertips moved forward; palms pressed fully into her sides, exerting the lightest bit of pressure and causing Quinn's eyes to involuntarily roll back into her skull, useless. So she repeated the name once more, loving the consequences of her first utterance. "Rachel." This time, not a question._

_The person behind her abruptly pressed their front fully against Quinn's back. Their arms encircled Quinn's waist. The eraser fell to the tray entirely forgotten as Quinn's own hand immediately lowered to those around her waist. The soft skin under her fingertips looked familiar as she bent her neck to look. That nail polish. The gold stars on her thumbs. "Rachel," she whispered again, knowingly._

_Quinn felt the shift in Rachel's stance as the shorter girl stood on her tippy toes. Rachel's right hand broke from Quinn's grasp, trailing up towards loose, blonde hair and a delicate neck. Her fingers traced along Quinn's exposed flesh, dragging her locks over her right shoulder. Goosebumps rose in the wake of her digits. Quinn's head fell back, lolling uselessly to the side as her body betrayed her. _

_Traitor._

_Breath tickled the tender skin of the shell of Quinn's left ear, and her knees would have given way if not for the tight form of her student standing behind her, holding her firmly in place. Quinn heard Rachel's lips part; no other discernable noise existed in the vacuum of space consuming her senses. Another breath. But there was no sound, there were no words, there was no release._

"_What, Rachel?" Quinn gently prodded, pleased that coherent words had passed through her already-parted lips and managed to escape past her ragged breaths and her panting chest and her traitorous body. "Tell me." Tell me. Speak. Please._

_Then the door of Quinn's classroom slammed, and her eyes snapped open._

* * *

"Oh, Quinn!" Will rushed, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I was carrying groceries, and I guess the open window caused the door to slam."

Quinn's lips were parted and she was still breathing heavily. But she wasn't in her classroom, nor was her student anywhere close. She was stretched out on the couch in the living room in a worn OSU sweatshirt with a book open on her chest. She had changed after school, preparing herself for a lazy weekend. The exhaustion of the week had apparently caught up to her before page thirty, and she had dozed off.

And she had dreamt.

Fully awake now, Quinn sat up and removed her reading glasses, rubbing lightly at her eyes. "No," she said, "not a problem. Just startled me a bit. Here, let me help you with your stuff."

She should have been thankful, probably, for Will's timely entrance into the apartment. As she placed Will's new box of cereal full of bran and fiber and other healthy stuff next to her fruit loops, she realized that her mind had gone to a very strange place during her slumber. And it was most disturbing to Quinn because… Well, she hadn't been disturbed at all.

No, she had just been disappointed that the door had slammed and kept her from hearing Rachel's voice – the voice she had never heard and clearly couldn't even imagine in her dreams.

* * *

Saturday morning, Quinn woke up refreshed with a clear mind. She opened her bedroom window. The late summer air was light and crisp. These last few weeks before fall really began – with the changing leaves and the cooler air – were always some of Quinn's favorites.

She changed into some workout clothes before dropping to her bedroom floor and starting her crunches. Fierce, upbeat music pounded through her eardrums from her iPod. Standing and stretching her arms above her head, a smile found its way onto her lips. She jumped up and down in place a couple of times before heading out of her room.

She crept quietly out of the apartment, stepping over the morning paper on her way out. Will normally slept later than her on Saturdays. Well, he slept later than her most days.

The pavement pounded away underneath her sneakers as she ran. There was her music in her ears and the ground beneath her feet and an almost subconscious and subdued awareness of her surroundings. There wasn't much else.

She rounded a corner onto a busier street and saw someone coming out of a store with a coffee clutched between their fingers. Short stature, wavy brown hair, and Quinn's steps faltered. The brunette held the door open behind her for her companion, and they continued out of the store and onto the sidewalk together, laughing as they went.

Quinn's heart was beating so hard, she was afraid that the couple she was now passing would hear. She saw their lips moving – a sign that the girl _wasn't _Rachel, in case Quinn hadn't figured it out before then. But she _had_ figured it out – and she felt incomprehensibly foolish for her behavior, for her nervous anticipation at the sight of a stranger who resembled the girl from her dreams, her _student_. Their conversation continued uninterrupted by her presence, despite Quinn's pounding heartbeat. And as she passed them, she was just more frustrated with herself than ever – because why was she even _thinking_ about Rachel _now_?

She blamed her dream from the previous afternoon. The dream that had warranted no place in her subconscious. At least, that's what Quinn kept telling herself. The dream was entirely random. It was only a trick her hormones were playing on her mind. Or something. Right? But then Quinn thought back to a distraught Rachel leaning against a desk, lip tucked between her teeth; Quinn thought back to that _feeling_ she had – that indescribable urge to comfort Rachel. She had wanted to reach out and touch her, hug her, whisper against her lusciously soft (looking) hair that everything would be ok. But Rachel was the student. Quinn was the teacher, the adult. These thoughts were inappropriate. Her _dream_ had been inappropriate. She hadn't been disturbed, but she _should _have been.

And that was where Quinn forced her thoughts to stop, turning up her music to a mind-numbing volume and breaking out into a sprint to finish her run and exhaust her body.

Returning home, she walked briskly up the sidewalk to her apartment building and took the stairs two at a time. She pushed the door open, removing her earbuds from her ears and wrapping the cord around her iPod as she entered.

"Morning, Quinn," Will said from his seat at the kitchen island. He had the Saturday paper propped open in front of him as he sipped on his blacker than black coffee. His dimples made Quinn smile.

"Morning," she said, her voice sweet as she moved into the kitchen. She pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. As she swallowed the cool liquid, she felt thankful that her heart had finally settled – not from her workout, but from her inappropriate dream about… She shook her head.

"Any plans for today?" Will asked as he turned the pages of the paper. The crinkling sound accompanied the birds chirping outside the nearest open window and the subtle movement of liquid down Quinn's throat.

She shook her head. "I just have some assignments to grade. I was thinking about going down to that café on Main. It's such a nice day. I figured it'd be nice to sit outside and read the work of the young geniuses in my classes." Will looked up and caught her playful smile. He chuckled. "What about you?"

"Well, _your_ plan sounds great. Unfortunately, I promised Ken that I would give him dance lessons." Quinn laughed. She had met Ken Tanaka once a couple weeks previous. He was _interesting _and apparently possessed two left feet. "So that will probably take up most of my day today. Our counselor has to take an extended leave of absence soon to tend to his own mental health issues, and Ken's heard that there's supposed to be some young, foxy counselor replacing him."

"Ahh," Quinn rolled her eyes knowingly. "He has plans to woo her?"

"Naturally." He turned another page.

Quinn finished her drink and sat the empty bottle next to the sink. "Well, I'm going to shower. If I miss you before you leave, good luck with Ken!" She called the words over her shoulder, and Will just chuckled and waved at her retreating figure.

* * *

The hot water beat against Quinn's skin, washing away the sheen of sweat from her run. She threw her head back and ran her fingers through her hair underneath the torrent of rushing water. Her eyes were squeezed shut. If she focused just the right amount, she could imagine the feeling of a body standing just inches behind her…

Her eyes snapped open. _No_, she thought to herself. _Bad Quinn_.

Hastily finishing her shower, she toweled herself dry and got dressed, fully realizing that if she couldn't rein in her thoughts, this was going to turn into the longest weekend of her life.

No, not weekend – _school year_.

Quinn took a seat at a table inside the café near an open window. The cool breeze and street noises filtered in through the window, but it wouldn't be strong enough to blow Quinn's papers away. She ordered some green tea before opening her bag and pulling out her stack of papers and a blue pen. Blue had always seemed nicer to Quinn when it came to grading. Less harsh than red.

Halfway through her stack of papers and entirely through her tea, Quinn happened upon Rachel's first assignment for the Morrie project – the one she had refused to turn in last week. For the longest time, Quinn just looked at the title of the paper. She couldn't bring herself to move beyond that. It was as if whatever words Quinn was about to read would lead to the slipping of her already loose grip on the reality of her situation as it currently stood. So she read the words over and over.

_**Maybe My Glass Was Always Too Full**  
My First Sip_

Quinn didn't know what the title meant, nor the subtitle. But she knew she had to read Rachel's vignette. She had to try and understand the mystery of this girl – this girl who _could_ speak but refused to do so.

So Quinn read…

_I laid my head back against my pillows. The pillowcase felt so soft against my fingertips. But I refused to allow myself to feel the comfort, so I clenched my tiny, six-year old hands into fists and squeezed my eyes shut against the tears._

_Earlier that day had been the first time the other children at school had made fun of me for having two fathers._

_I heard the lightest rapping of knuckles against my bedroom door. They had never really knocked before. I realized that they must have heard me crying. So I sniffled once, then twice. And I rolled over and sat up against the headboard with my arms wrapped around my knees._

"_Come in," I barely managed to call out to my dads; the hiccups from my sobs were too intense. I knew it would be both of them. I don't ever remember seeing them apart from each other. They were never apart. Maybe that's why._

_The door creaked open and Dad – with this pale skin and eyeglasses – peeked his head in._

"_Sweetie?" he asked. "Are you alright?"_

_He didn't wait for an answer. He just slowly pushed the door open to its fullest extent and walked inside. Daddy followed him, his chocolate hand wrapped up in the vanilla of Dad's._

_In Dad's free hand, he carried a full glass of water._

_I couldn't answer. Hiccups were still racking my diaphragm, and I couldn't seem to properly catch my breath. Tear tracks coated my cheeks. My hair was mussed on the left side from where I had buried my head against my soft pillowcase._

"_Here," Dad said as he gently handed me the glass of water. "Drink this. And just breathe."_

_So I took a sip. And I breathed. And some of the sadness dissipated into the air around us. Dad sat next to me on the bed and wrapped his slender arm around my even more slender shoulders. Daddy stood next to him and engulfed both of us with his own comforting presence, resting a loving hand on Dad's shoulder._

_And finally, I spoke._

_I told them that I had mentioned "my dads" during class earlier in the day. I told them that a couple of my classmates had snickered behind their hands. I told them that the kids formed some kind of vicious circle around me at recess. I told them how they had hurled insults and, finally, pushed me physically to the ground._

_And by the time I finished telling my story, I found myself again hardly capable of getting the proper amount of air into my lungs. I thought the tears would never end._

"_Honey," Dad whispered against the top of my head. My face was buried in the soft fabric of his shirt. I was finally able to inhale deeply, and I took his scent in greedily. It was a scent I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. It was my dad. It was comforting. It was home. Daddy stroked my hair lovingly. "Honey," Dad said again, "sometimes children do mean things. They do those things because they don't know any better. Someone hasn't taught them right from wrong yet. They'll learn someday."_

"_When is someday?" I had asked. I remember comparing my voice to his, how small mine had sounded._

_I felt the muscles of his face shift into a smile against the top of my head. "Someday will happen sooner than you can ever imagine, sooner than you'll ever want. Suddenly, it will be someday and you'll be left wondering where yesterday went."_

"_I'm ready for it to be someday now," I had muttered. Dad and Daddy laughed. I didn't understand what was so funny._

"_Rachel," Dad said, tilting my head up so I was forced to look into his face. His smiling, loving, familiar face. "I know today was hard. It may not be the last hard day in your life. But I promise that your daddy and I will always be here to help you see things through."_

_Eventually, they left my room to make dinner. And I leaned back against the headboard again. There aren't a lot of things I remember about my room that day. But I distinctly remember looking over and seeing that glass of water on my bedside table, reaching out and grabbing it, and bringing it to my lips. It was a big kid glass – perhaps even an adult-sized glass – and I drank every last bit of that water._

_It was like the water was laced with the bitterness of my sadness and the rejection of my classmates. But it also tasted sweet, like the promises and love from my fathers._

_All metaphorical, of course. It was just water, after all. _

_It was just water…_

_I sat the empty glass back down and rolled over. I inhaled, and I smelled nothing but my Dad's scent. I convinced myself that things were going to be ok. I had my dads and, to my six-year old self, that was all I needed in the world._

Quinn's hands had started shaking somewhere in the middle of Rachel's vignette. She had been forced to settle the paper against the smooth surface of the table in order to continue reading. There was _something _about what Rachel had written. And it reminded Quinn of the conversation she had had previously with her student. _My heart aches at the opportunity to be able to write such a stunning tribute for a mentor from my past_, Rachel had said. _I respect your assignment, and that's why I didn't complete it._

But now, Rachel had completed that first assignment. She had completed it with passion and conviction that Quinn wasn't sure she had read from her other students thus far.

Her plans to grade the stack of papers in order completely tossed aside, Quinn rifled through the pile looking for Rachel's second writing assignment, the assignment from_ this_ week. Quinn felt an inexplicable desire to read more of Rachel's story, to peel back one more layer of this mysteriously silent young woman before the weekend was over.

Finally, near the bottom of the stack, Quinn found Rachel's second paper. She pulled it out, placing it on top of the other unread assignments on the table.

Quinn shifted in her seat, turning towards the open window. She allowed her mind to wander as she watched families on bicycles ride past, roller-bladers with dogs on leashes and moms walking together with strollers meander by. Cars hurried along the street to their destinations beyond Quinn's vision, and a little girl's scoop of ice cream fell off of her cone and onto the sidewalk.

But all Quinn could think about was a tiny, six-year old Rachel Berry – sitting against her headboard with her arms wrapped around her knees. A six-year old Rachel Berry – entirely unafraid of speaking.

_You shouldn't be this enthralled, Quinn_, she said to herself.

Her fingers drummed absentmindedly against the window frame as her eyes shifted back towards the table with her students' papers. _You shouldn't be_, she thought, _but you are._

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the delay. Real life has semi-simmered down. But graduation is just around the corner. I'll do my best to keep the updates more frequent than once a month from here on out! Hope you enjoyed.  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Silence of Silence  
**

An hour and a half later, Quinn found herself sitting at the same table with the same stack of papers in front of her. Except now, she had graded every paper – _except_ for Rachel's second assignment. She had looked back outside at the small girl who was visibly upset over her lost ice cream. And the girl's lip had been trembling. And her father was leaning down to comfort her. And the girl had finally stopped crying. She hugged her father tightly around the waist, standing on the tips of her toes to do so, before they joined hands and walked off down the sidewalk.

And all Quinn could think of was how raw and real the scene had been.

As Quinn had turned back to that ungraded stack of papers, she wasn't sure which scene she was even referring to anymore – the distraught girl on the sidewalk or the image that had already begun to form in Quinn's mind of the six-year old, bullied, innocent Rachel Berry.

So Quinn had leaned forward in her chair again, hovering over the papers. And she had moved Rachel's second assignment to the bottom of the stack and continued grading – though 'out of sight' didn't necessarily equate to 'out of mind'. But the next chapter in Rachel's story would have to wait. Quinn wasn't sure that she could handle it in that moment.

_Now_, she no longer had the excuse of two dozen other papers to read first. They were done, graded, complete. And there was only a single paper remaining. She picked up the paper with Rachel's name in the corner, holding it close to her face. Her fingers delicately adjusted her glasses, and she read the title.

**_Maybe My Glass Was Always Too Full_**_  
A Daily Dose  
_

Before Quinn's eyes had a chance to wander any further down the page – discovering secrets and truths along the way – her phone vibrated from its place on the corner of the table. She tore her eyes away from Rachel's delicately handwritten words and picked up her phone. She smiled as a text from Caleb filled her phone's screen.

**Hey big sis. Just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you. I'm sorry I missed our Skype date this week, things have been crazy with the new show coming into the gallery. I promise not to be such an awful brother next week. How are things going? Love you!**

Her smile grew as she texted back, teasing him about how the "gallery" – i.e., the cute girl he worked with at said gallery – was more important than his sister. She ended the text with a winkey face and several 'X's for hugs and an 'I love you, too,' for good measure.

And then she began to read...

_Dad had been right. There were a lot more hard days. Everyone talks about the trials and tribulations of high school. But elementary school? Not so much. I, however, was subjected to that torture on an almost daily basis._

_And it always made me thirsty._

_I would come home from school and hang my backpack on its hook in the hallway. And I would walk into the kitchen to grab a tall glass from the cabinet. I would teeter on a wooden stool to precariously reach up and snatch the most grownup looking glasses that I could reach and fill them with water and drink. _

_Because I couldn't tell if I was sad or just thirsty._

_I think I was sad._

_I hope I was just thirsty._

_"Invite your friends over for your birthday next weekend, sweetie," my daddy said one night at dinner. I swallowed thickly around the broccoli in my mouth. Invite my friends for my birthday? _

_What friends?_

_"I don't know, Daddy," I replied. Apparently my lack of verbosity momentarily shocked him into silence._

_"…Why not? It will be fun. We'll throw a party." I continued to be silent. "Maybe a small get together? Just a sleepover with a couple of your best friends? That could be fun."_

_Dad had been quietly chewing on some asparagus or some other green thing, but his eyes were locked on mine. I caught his gaze as Daddy continued to plot and plan the party that I knew would never happen. When Dad looked at me the way he was looking at me right then, I never failed to experience a rush of warmth and love and comfort. He always understood._

_Dad placed his hand on top of one of Daddy's wildly waving hands to stop him from chattering about the tent he could set up in the back yard. Daddy fell silent. "Marcus, honey," Dad said, "While we all know your heart is in the right place, what do you think about a trip to the city?" Dad turned to smile at me then. "We could catch a movie and do some shopping. What do you say, Rachel, my dear?"_

_My dear. I was his dear. And he was my darling father. I loved both of my fathers, that must be made abundantly clear. But Daddy just didn't always understand. Dad understood, always. I don't know why that was, exactly. It stands to reason that I may never really understand why._

_Daddy turned adoring eyes on Dad. "That sounds like a blast, Brendon. Honey?"_

_It was on me now. But it wasn't a hard decision. I was already picturing it in my mind: walking through the mall sandwiched between my dads, choosing which stores to go into or to skip, debating which movie we would watch… They would argue with me – teasingly, jokingly – but I would win. It was going to be my birthday, after all. And I was their darling daughter._

_So I nodded, and I smiled. And when I smiled, it was genuine and I felt my heart beat a little faster. "I would like that." Yes. I would like that, very much._

_It was moments like those – when happiness would settle heavily on my heart like a warm blanket or a long-lost, favorite, stuffed animal that was finally found and wrapped in my arms – when I never had an issue with mistaking my thirst for sadness._

_Sometimes, thirst is just thirst._

* * *

Monday morning, Quinn arrived at school early to prepare for her classes. She normally prepared her lesson plan for the week sometime on Sunday. But she had been emotionally drained. She had sat down at her laptop several times throughout the day; in the morning with her first cup of hot tea, in the afternoon after she and Will cooked lunch together, before the evening news, after the evening news…

But she had been distracted. And she didn't really have the heart or the confidence to dissect exactly _why_ she was so distracted – _why _she was letting Rachel's words get to her.

Clearly, Rachel was confident enough to write about her past experiences – so why wasn't Quinn confident enough to just read them and move on with her life?

Because she had been moved, that's why.

Quinn – who had read Rand and Cummings and Tolstoy and Plath and Shakespeare – had been _moved_. By a high school student. By the fact that the child in Rachel's vignettes was the same girl sitting in a desk in Quinn's classroom every morning, five days a week. No longer a child, it seemed – but why?

She didn't know.

So by the time Quinn arrived at school on Monday morning and took a seat at her desk, she did so with a mind that was free (mostly, but tryingly so) of emotional baggage accumulated after having read (and reread and read once more) both of Rachel's assignments about her past and her parents and her torment.

The sounds of the first students filtering into the hallways and opening and closing their lockers floats into Quinn's room as the door opens. She looks up and smiles at her guest.

"Good morning, Miss Fabray," Mr. Rumba says (loudly) as he walks across the room towards Quinn.

"Good morning to you as well," Quinn replies as she leans back from her desk.

"As you know, I'm the choir director after school several times a week," Mr. Rumba began, wasting no time in getting directly to the point. "I'm sure you can imagine the special challenges we face as a choir comprised solely of deaf and hearing impaired students." Quinn nodded slowly, not quite sure where the other teacher was going with his train of thought. "Well, I remember speaking with you a few weeks ago, and you mentioned that you have a minor in music. I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me with the group."

Quinn's eyebrows rose. She had quite literally never heard a deaf choir perform before. But she was intrigued. And she loved music. But most importantly, she loved her students.

"I would love to help you out, absolutely!"

Before she could say anything else, Mr. Rumba continued with a broad grin on his face. "You would be helping me teach them the songs, perhaps performing with us – do you play any musical instruments?"

The excitement in his voice was becoming contagious. Quinn nodded. "Yes, I can play piano decently well, and a little bit of guitar. I may be a little rusty but –"

"That's no matter," he waved his hand dismissively. "Every little bit helps. And we have an excellent piano player already! If it's not too much of a last minute engagement, are you available this afternoon at four o'clock? We normally meet Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons."

Quinn nodded, "Sure, I don't have anything else going on, fortunately. I would love to come by and do what I can to help, meet all of the kids."

Mr. Rumba leaned forward over Quinn's desk and stuck out his hand. Quinn stood and shook it with a smile on her lips. "Thank you, Miss Fabray. Looking forward to working more with you."

"Yes, as am I."

"What?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "Speak up! Scarlet fever, you know."

Quinn choked back a chuckle. "I'm looking forward to it as well," she repeated.

"You have a collection of shells? I'm deaf in this ear!"

"I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO REHEARSAL!" Quinn practically yelled into Mr. Rumba's face. As she finished proclaiming her eager anticipation for choir practice, her door opened, and Quinn saw someone walking into her room out of the corner of her eye. Quinn's eyes shifted, and she stared for a few seconds as Rachel tentatively walked into the classroom and observed the interaction taking place.

"Oh," Mr. Rumba said. "Well, so am I, but there's no need to yell about it!" He dropped the handshake and turned to leave the room. "See you at four," he called over his shoulder.

Quinn's jaw was dropped open slightly as she found herself baffled by the exchange she had just had with her fellow teacher. Her eyes finally shifted from the door that had clicked shut to Rachel. Quinn's stomach fluttered as she caught the girl biting her lip innocently – and generally looking as if she was trying incredibly hard not to burst out into laughter.

Though what Quinn would give to hear the sound of her laughter…

Quinn sighed good-naturedly with a slight grin on her lips. "It's not funny," she signed and spoke.

Rachel's eyes shifted up from her Mary Janes and to the teacher standing in front of her. Quinn's stomach turned over again as Rachel grinned at her, and she saw a sparkle of mirth in her student's eyes – it wasn't a trait Quinn had necessarily associated with the young woman standing in front of her before.

She found that she quite adored it.

Mentally shaking herself, Quinn asked, "What can I do for you, Rachel?"

Rachel shifted her books in her arms to better be able to sign. _I just wanted to thank you for giving me another opportunity to turn in the assignment I missed._

Quinn almost opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it.

_I've been thinking about the project a lot,_ Rachel continued. _About what you told me about your grandmother. I just wanted to let you know that I'm grateful._ She looked as if she was about to turn and leave the room, but she didn't. She only tilted her head once to the left and then to the right before signing, _I'm grateful for both the assignment and having you as a teacher._

Quinn couldn't help but smile softly and say, "That means a lot to me, Rachel." She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second before saying, "After reading your assignments, I have to say… I'm pleased that you changed your mind about not completing the project." Quinn managed to keep her praise simple, attempting to convey how much she enjoyed reading Rachel's work to the girl standing in front of her.

Quinn wasn't quite sure she could explain to her student how she considered every word to be a gift.

Rachel ducked her head adorably before smiling – an actual honest-to-God smile – and signing, _I'll see you in class_, and leaving the room.

* * *

Later that day, during Quinn's fourth hour, _Death of a Salesman_ played on the television screen that Quinn had checked out from the library. The only light in the room was the flickering of the television and the square of light from the hallway.

Quinn had the volume turned on – solely for herself and, obviously, for Rachel.

The soft murmur of the characters onscreen faded to the background of Quinn's mind as she leaned back in her chair with her elbow propped up on her desk and her knees crossed. Her hand was cupped against her chin as she watched the movie.

As she _tried_ to watch the movie. But her eyes were exhibiting a life of their own, constantly shifting out across the sparse bodies of her students situated in their desks. Most were watching the television screen with rapt attention, devouring the words along the bottom of the screen and the emotions on the actors' faces. And then there was Rachel – with her loose hair framing one side of her face and her pen furiously writing notes across her open notebook.

Quinn's head turned slightly to better stare – _No_, she thought to herself. _Not stare! Observe_ – to better _observe_ Rachel.

And as Quinn continued staring – _observing _– Rachel delicately placed the tip of her pen against her lip as she contemplated her paper before lifting her eyes to stare at the screen. Quinn couldn't help but notice how the light from the television illuminated Rachel's facial features – casting some in shadow and bringing others into sharper focus. Her eyes were wide and bright.

And then her eyes were looking directly into Quinn's, her head having tilted slightly to the side.

Having been caught in the act of staring – _observing_ – Quinn's elbow sharply slipped from the edge of her desk as she turned her head quickly back towards the television. As if that wasn't obvious…

Breathing deeply through her nose, Quinn attempted to calm her raging heartbeat. Why was a seventeen-year old reducing Quinn's emotions to those of a teenager herself? It really wasn't fair. Or normal. Or appropriate, in all honesty.

Quinn waited several minutes before chancing a small glance back across the room. Rachel's face was turned downward towards her notebook again, but her head was tilted so that the light was still showcasing her facial features. And she was smirking.

_Smirking_.

Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly in nervous indignation as she realized that Rachel knew _exactly_ what had just happened. She again rested her head on her hand as she sighed – in defeat or frustration or resignation or _something_.

Her movement caught Rachel's eye, and the girl again stared directly into the eyes of her teacher. But this time, Quinn didn't look away. She just couldn't.

* * *

At a quarter until four o'clock, Quinn closed the book she had been reading and stored it away in her desk before grabbing her bag and leaving her room, locking the door behind her. Her long, confident strides quickly brought her to the choir room in another wing of the school.

Mr. Rumba was already there, as were a handful of students. The director eagerly waved her forward, so Quinn deposited her bag to the side and began to meet the students she didn't know and greet the students she had in class. Patrick, the first student she had ever introduced herself to at Haverbrook, smiled brightly at her and gave her a friendly wave.

"Alright," Mr. Rumba signed. "Our piano player should be here any minute now. Since this is our first practice of the year, do any of you have any questions or suggestions?"

Apparently the kids did research – online or by asking their friends and family – about popular songs and the like, and they actually had some great suggestions that Quinn was looking forward to helping them learn. Since a group of deaf students wasn't the typical composition of a choir, there were a lot of extra elements that they would have to practice – memorizing the feel of various pitches, enunciation, and synchronization, to name a few.

As ideas were exchanged, Quinn sat on the piano bench eagerly watching with her elbow propped up on her crossed legs. A couple of minutes past four, the door opened and the piano player entered, but Quinn was caught up in the discussion and hadn't realized it until another body was sitting on the bench a few inches away from her.

Slightly startled, Quinn turned her shoulders to greet the final member of their team.

And she was met with the increasingly familiar gaze of Rachel Berry.

"Hi," Quinn breathed out, unable to stop the word from softly leaving her lips, so startled was she still that _Rachel_ was the piano player.

Rachel smiled kindly before mouthing, _Hi_, back to Quinn.

Quinn had to look away abruptly as she realized that her eyes had lingered a bit too long on Rachel's lips after the ghost of a word had left them.

Teaching at Haverbrook had been Quinn's dream for a very long time. However, when she signed up, she hadn't had the slightest clue what this school year would have in store for her – but so far, it was one hell of an adventure. And it had really only just begun.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you again for the amazing responses to the previous chapter! Hope you enjoy this one as well. I will be unable to post for at least a week as lots of things will be happening before and after graduation this Saturday. Hope you all had a great Mother's Day and sent love to all of the special women in your life!_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Silence of Silence**

"…And be sure to turn in your Morrie assignment before you leave!" Quinn signed and spoke urgently to her fourth hour class as they began to pack up their things. "There are only a few pieces left to the project before we put together your books, so every word is important at this point."

She answered a few questions as the kids filed out. Marcus wanted to know about length, Jennifer wanted to know about adding pictures into the project, and Michael had a question about Miss Fabray's comments on his last assignment.

When the metaphorical dust from the last minute onslaught of questions subsided, Quinn found herself alone in her classroom with Rachel.

The brunette's head was down, facing her desk. One elbow was propped on its surface with her cheek resting lightly in her palm, fingers tapping gently against the side of her neck. A single sheet of paper resided in front of her, and her eyes seemed to be glued to it, unmoving.

"Rachel?" Quinn questioned, slowly crossing the room to stand in front of her student. Rachel's head remained bowed, and Quinn noted a slight slump appear in her shoulders. Part of Quinn – a part she had struggled with and a part she _thought_ she had buried deeply within herself – struggled, valiantly fighting against Quinn's weakening will power to reach out, to grasp Rachel's chin, to force her to look up into Quinn's eyes… But she didn't. She didn't reach out, she didn't touch her – she struggled, but her hands remained at her sides. "Rachel, is something bothering you?"

Perhaps it wasn't the most sensitive of questions. But Quinn had never possessed the most rational thoughts around Rachel – not even from their very first interaction. Today was not destined to be any different.

Rachel sighed, and Quinn's ears perked up and she leaned forward slightly – she knew she was grasping at straws, but every time breath crossed Rachel's lips, Quinn struggled to find a tone or pitch or _sound_ within it. She wanted to hear the girl's voice. She wanted to hear it badly.

_This week's paper_, Rachel signed as she finally looked up, locking eyes with her teacher. _This assignment is…_ She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders dejectedly and rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes darted around the room as if the words would magically appear, plastered across the walls. She turned back to Quinn as she pushed herself from her desk and shouldered her bag, unassisted by phantom phrases that never would be there. _I guess you've gotten used to my method of writing over the past several weeks, so I'll just let this one speak for itself._

"I'm looking forward to reading it, Rachel," Quinn said as she took the paper from Rachel's outstretched hands. She resisted the urge to allow her fingertips to brush against her student's. "You know, even over this past month, I've seen improvement in your writing. You should be proud of what you've accomplished so far. I can't wait to see your entire project pieced together however you choose to do it."

Rachel grinned. It didn't reach her eyes. She initiated a change of subject before leaving, and the part of Quinn that she was still trying to suppress hoped that perhaps the girl standing in front of her cherished these moments as much as Quinn did. _Are you ready for Sectionals next Saturday?_ Rachel signed.

Quinn smiled. It reached her eyes. "Oh, I definitely am! It's very exciting." She chuckled slightly, the almost raspy quality of her voice carrying across the room easily. "I really think everyone is enjoying our final song selection. You made a great choice."

The slightest tint of pink began to overtake Rachel's cheeks. _Thank you_, she signed, _but it was really a group decision._

"You're more than welcome. And your musicality is very much appreciated by everyone involved, I assure you," Quinn signed, speaking the words softly. "Have a good weekend, Rachel." The words left her lips quietly… Perhaps even intimately. She shook her head slightly to clear it, hoping that Rachel hadn't noticed her tone, her emotions, her unsolicited eagerness.

_You too, Miss Fabray, _Rachel replied.

She turned to leave, and Quinn made her way to her desk. As Quinn took a seat, she looked up to see that Rachel was standing with her hand tightly grasping the door handle. Her brows were furrowed, and she seemed to be internally deliberating with herself.

Finally, as if the decision had been made for her, Rachel released the door handle and strode determinedly across the room back towards her teacher. Halfway across the expanse of the open floor – with Quinn's eyes wide and Rachel's still narrowed slightly with uncertainty – she stopped and signed, _Please don't think any differently of me after you've read it_. Her eyes shone brightly, as if tears would fall unbidden from her ducts at any moment if she so much as blinked wrong.

Quinn opened her mouth once and then closed it again. Finally, she lifted her hands and signed, _Never, Rachel. I would never do that_.

Rachel's facial features relaxed. Her shoulders straightened out. She nodded her head a couple of times before allowing a tiny smile to cross her lips. Then she turned from Quinn's desk and left the room.

Quinn's heart beat fiercely against her ribcage – an occurrence that was all too common for her since coming to teach at Haverbrook, since Rachel became a fixture in her everyday life.

She didn't even glance at the title of Rachel's assignment for this week – another vignette from the past – knowing that if she did, she would probably read it then and there. And then and there wasn't the time nor the place. Over the past several weeks, Quinn's students' projects were coming together with vignettes from the past and the present, interviews with their '_Morries'_, and narratives into the insight that made their individual mentors truly inspirational to them. Through most of her students' work, Quinn had come to know more about each of them in turn. But through Rachel's work, Quinn had come to learn something about herself and about this strange connection she felt to Rachel. Her student. Her _student_…

_Your __**student**__, Quinn_, she mentally shook herself before straightening the stack of papers on her desk and preparing for her next class of the day.

* * *

Quinn sat at her desk in her room with one knee drawn up protectively towards her chest. Soft snow flurries fluttered against her closed window. It was the first snow of the season. The chill permeated even the soft, worn cotton of Quinn's favorite sweatshirt as she pulled it more fully around her wrists, attempting to block out the cold.

But not even the cold could distract Quinn now.

She had read every other assignment, as had become habit. And now Rachel's paper sat in front of her, unread and waiting for Quinn's eyes.

The past several weeks had been enlightening, to say the least. But there was something about Rachel's behavior concerning this week's vignette that had Quinn's curiosity peaked to an all time high – and, well, that was definitely saying something.

Quinn had read about Rachel's love for her fathers and the ever-present torment and ridicule of her childhood…

…_But sometimes, my dads just helped me forget everything else; or at least, they tried. And I will forever love them both for that. An eight-year old girl isn't meant to suffer the hardships of the world. They knew that. Even I, in my minute wisdom, knew that. But the other kids at school didn't seem to know that. The teachers turned a blind eye, which I will never understand. Daddy tried talking to them, but Dad chastised him for yelling too much. Most days, I would lock myself in a bathroom stall and sit cross-legged on the seat and sip from my water bottle and hope no one noticed me during recess. Those were always the better days; the days where I would smile at Dad when he picked me up. He never asked me how my day had been. He would just turn to me with that special smile, tuck stray hair behind my ear, and ask, "Did you conquer the world today, my princess?" He made me feel as if I could…_

Quinn had read about Rachel's passion for singing and dancing and acting…

…_My first dance recital was memorable to a certain extent, but my first school talent show was something I will never forget. I was nine-years old. I had gotten it into my head that I would sing in front of my whole elementary school. Dad – always the musical enthusiast – helped me pick out a song from my repertoire. My first vocal lesson had been at the ripe age of six, and there weren't many songs that I hadn't at least attempted to sing. Daddy was hesitant about letting me sing 'Don't Rain on My Parade' for an audience because of the difficulty level. But I had stomped my foot, and Dad had simply said, "She can do it." And I had done it. And as my final sustained note faded into the recesses of the auditorium, there was a moment of silence that I will never forget – because even the people who hated me merely sat in the audience with their jaws dropped for a few seconds before the jeering began. And some of the younger students who hadn't yet learned that they were supposed to hate me actually clapped. It was just one of those moments when I wasn't thirsty, standing there on the stage in that moment of silence…_

Quinn had read about the little things in Rachel's youth…

…_Even playing mini-golf, Daddy oftentimes had a temper. "He's just jealous that you're kicking his butt, sweetie," Dad would say while Daddy huffed and indignantly crossed his arms off to the side…_

…_I twisted my ankle one day during dance class. I thought my life was over. "Broadway won't ever accept me if I'm crippled in my youth!" I proclaimed, entirely distraught by the ice pack on my lower extremity. Dad just shook his head and smiled that kind smile that I was certain he always reserved for me. "You'll recover, and Broadway won't be able to handle you, my dear." And for some reason, I believed him…_

…"_People die, sweetie. It's part of life," Dad had said, holding my hand in a comforting manner while Daddy hugged his relatives at his mother's funeral. I was young and innocent in that way where the simplest questions sometimes yielded the most complicated of answers. "Does everyone die?" I asked. I squeezed his hand harder, waiting for his response. He kneeled down in front of me then and clasped my cheeks in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears I hadn't realized had fallen from my eyes. "Yes, my dear. Everyone dies eventually. However, not everyone really lives." I had a hard time understanding what he was saying then. I think I understand it now…_

There was something about Rachel's past that Quinn hadn't uncovered yet. It presented an ominous feeling of foreboding each and every time Quinn turned the pages of Rachel's life. Every week, she would wonder if _this_ was the week she would discover the truth – that tiniest inkling of reason for Rachel's behavior, for her _silence_.

_Maybe this week_, Quinn would think to herself as she began to read.

And each week as she finished, she would think, _Maybe next week…_

The feeling Quinn had as she held the single page of Rachel's delicate scrawl between her fingertips wasn't promising in the sense that happiness was going to be bounding from the pages – because, after all, how could self-imposed silence and an aura of sadness be based on _happy_ memories? But it _was_ promising in that Quinn felt she would finally be getting some answers to the questions that had been filling every free space in her mind since her first day of classes, since this fascinating student had captivated her attention.

Quinn ran the palm of her hand over her eyes once, wiping away any indecision she found there, before placing her glasses back on her face and reading Rachel's story.

_**Maybe My Glass Was Always Too Full**  
So It Had To Spill Eventually, Right?_

_It had become something of a family ritual to celebrate my birthday each year in the same fashion._

_Trip to the city. Shopping at the mall. Dinner at my favorite restaurant. Movie of my choice. Car ride home blasting Barbra's Greatest Hits or the soundtrack to my latest Broadway obsession, singing along at the top of my voice…_

_I was spoiled._

_My tenth birthday was special. We would always plan our trips for the closest Saturday to my actual birthday. That year, my birthday generously fell directly on Saturday. I thought it was possibly the coolest thing that had ever happened._

_They always let me 'sleep in' on my birthday-Saturday. But I never did. I was always too excited. That day was no exception. I woke up early. The three of us cooked breakfast together. Daddy smeared syrup on the tip of my nose. I squealed. Dad lovingly wiped it off with the tip of his finger._

_We played the license plate game on the way to the city, a difficult game to play in Ohio. I think they let me win._

_My intuition had told me that this birthday was going to be special, and I knew that I was right when we pulled up outside of a music store that I had never seen before instead of our customary first stop at the mall. I squealed and hopped out of the car, wrapping my scarf securely around my neck to protect me from the December chill. My dads were right on my heels. And when I threw open the store door to find the largest selection of sheet music I had ever seen in my life, my innocent little ten-year old heart soared._

_I walked out with three different song books clutched to my chest – because I hadn't been able to decide and it was my birthday, after all – and I easily felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Shopping at the mall paled in comparison to my treasure that was sitting out in the car. And the movie we watched – though my dads tried to playfully steer me in another less-animated direction – was eclipsed by the warmth and happiness I felt sandwiched between my parents. They laced their fingers together across my lap. I crossed my legs and placed both of my small hands over their larger ones._

_The smell of Dad's cologne wafted over my senses. I never ordered popcorn because all I ever wanted to do was lay my head on his shoulder and inhale his deep, wonderful scent. Some years – and my tenth birthday in particular – I find it impossible to recall what movie we even watched. I would be too caught up in staring at the chocolate and vanilla of my fathers' hands entwined in front of me and the comforting smell of Dad._

_We ran from the front of the movie theatre to the car because it had started pouring "Cats and dogs!" as Daddy would say. The childish part of my heart thought it unfair that it should rain on the last part of my birthday. But that was soon quenched by the promise of sing-along Barbra and Broadway standards during the ride home with Dad's voice harmonizing deeply alongside my own._

_Halfway home – and one entire CD down – I unbuckled my seatbelt to lean forward across the center console and pluck the finished CD from the dash and insert my next one. Dad took the one we had just finished from my outstretched hand and placed it back in its case as I put the next one in. I must have bumped the volume with my elbow because it was suddenly blaring through the speaker system. _

_Daddy, who was driving, clenched his jaw angrily and shouted, "For God's sake, can I get a little quiet for once? This storm is so bad I can hardly see the road in front of me, and the noise isn't helping!"_

_I knew what he meant by 'noise'. I shut my mouth and froze. I hadn't meant to upset him, I really hadn't._

_Dad turned to Daddy and placed his hand gently on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "It's ok, Marcus," he said. "We'll keep it down for the rest of the trip, or at least until this rain stops." They loved each other, so much. I knew it. I never doubted it. "Here honey," Dad said, unbuckling his own seatbelt and turning around to direct me back to my seat. "Let's get you buckled up." And he reached over my shoulder and pulled the seatbelt across my chest and into its buckle. He squeezed my knee once, and I giggled because it tickled. He turned back to sit down, but not before placing a kiss against Daddy's cheek._

_And Daddy took his eye off of the road for a second. Just for a second. And I saw the side of his face as he turned to Dad and smiled bashfully, as if he was ashamed of his previous actions. But he had always had a little temper. We understood. We loved him anyway. We loved each other always._

_And then bright lights filled the cab of our car. And my breath was caught in my lungs, and my eyes were wide with terror. And Daddy yelled. He threw out his arm instinctively across Dad's chest to protect him as he slammed on the brakes. But the truck slammed into us head first. And Dad hadn't had his seatbelt on._

_Because he had been making sure that I was wearing mine._

_I remember the sounds of the crunching metal. The smell of burning rubber. And I remember a deep, sudden pain all over my body. And then I remember nothing at all._

_Dad had told me once, "Yes, my dear. Everyone dies eventually. However, not everyone really lives."_

_When my consciousness resurfaced, the thirst burned my throat like never before in my life, and part of me wanted to hate Dad for being right._

Quinn exhaled shakily. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly – but she didn't know if she was trying to rid her mind of the mental image that had formed or if she was trying to hold onto it, never to forget…

She wiped at her face and was surprised to find wetness on her cheeks.

The end of Rachel's assignment had been difficult to read. But there was still a part of Quinn that knew… This wasn't the end of Rachel's story.

It was merely the beginning.

* * *

_A/N: Hello. A couple of things to say…_

_1) Thank you to everyone who is reviewing, you're all awesome – even you anonymous reviewers who I can't reply to! If you're brave enough to log-on and review, I promise to respond to you! If you wish to remain anonymous, that's obviously fine – just know that your thoughts are all appreciated so much._

_2) I skipped quite a chunk of time to get to this chapter. I also skipped a lot of Rachel's Morrie project. But I don't want people to get bored with this (and, more importantly, I don't want to get bored of it myself)! So what I'm considering doing is writing a little companion piece to this that will be nothing but Rachel's assignments, pieced out into her "project" or whatever. So if I do that before this story is over, I'll be sure to point you to it so you can read Rachel's story in its entirety._

_Thank you for taking the time to read this story!_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Silence of Silence**

The week had passed by quickly. All of the weeks seemed to have done so for Quinn since she started teaching. She loved it, every moment. And it was that joy that she experienced everyday – that sense of flow and belonging – that had led to this _feeling_.

Happiness.

But _was_ it happiness? When was the last time Quinn had felt _happy?_ A year ago? The beginning of college? High school? Maybe when she was a child?

She couldn't recall. But it didn't matter. Because if someone had come up to Quinn today, in that moment, and asked, '_Excuse me, Miss, but I was just curious – are you happy?_' she would have smiled and her eyes would have lit up, her chin would have ducked momentarily to her chest before she glanced up through her eyelashes, nodding her head slightly and saying, '_Yes.'_ Simply, yes.

Despite not having seen Caleb in several months. Despite the forced conversation she had with her mother last Sunday. Despite the fact that her father had refused to speak to her for even a moment during that conversation. Despite the unanswered questions still flitting around Quinn's mind about Rachel Berry… Despite it all. Quinn was happy.

It was a beautiful day. The sun had come out, and there was no residual snow on the ground from the week previous. Quinn would almost venture to call it _warm_. But that would probably jinx their luck, so she wore a light sweater over her shoulders anyway to combat the slightest of chills in the air. She was wearing school colors, of course – Quinn had to represent her students, after all.

She parked in the lot a couple of rows from the big, yellow bus. Mr. Rumba was exiting his own car and heading towards the bus when Quinn pulled up, and he waved over at her as she turned her car off. Quinn waved back with a smile before grabbing her bag out of the passenger seat and leaving her car behind.

As she stepped onto the bus behind a student, Quinn greeted Mr. Rumba and their bus driver for the day before taking a seat a couple of rows back. As she sat her bag next to her and settled into the squeaky, relatively uncomfortable seat, her mind began to drift away, and she found herself back in her classroom earlier that week…

* * *

_Quinn rolled her chair forward underneath her desk as her students began filing out of the classroom, headed to lunch or wherever their schedules required them to be next. No one approached Quinn, so she began flipping through the pages of her copy of their latest reading material, using post-it notes to mark particular sections that they would be going over as the week progressed._

_Not a full minute after class was over – when Quinn had thought she was alone – she looked up and across the room. And there was Rachel Berry. The girl's hair was pulled over her right shoulder, and her fingers were idly playing with her brunette locks as she gazed down at her desk. Quinn couldn't see what Rachel was looking at, but she had an idea._

_The last thing Quinn had done before the class ended was to hand back the previous week's Morrie assignments._

_Rachel sat staring at the paper, and Quinn found herself holding her breath. She always wrote notes about her students' writing styles or the content of their work, so she assumed that Rachel was reading her words now._

_Quinn had memorized them, repeating them over and over in her head before inking them down on the pristine page of Rachel's story…_

_Rachel, thank you for your courage, and thank you for sharing this with me.  
Your dad was right – not everyone lives.  
So I guess the only question you need to ask yourself is this:  
Are you living?  
I'm looking forward to the rest of your story._

_Quinn had just managed to catch her hand, lifting it from the paper before she inadvertently wrote something along the lines of 'you move me' or 'the best part of my day is when I get to sit down and read the words you have written' or 'do you feel it, too?'_

_Because Quinn felt it. God, she felt it from her head to her toes. And she had tried – time and time again – to suppress it, simply because she should. But that didn't change the fact that it was there._

_Had Quinn overstepped her boundaries? Was it disrespectful of Quinn to throw Rachel's father's words back in her face as she had? She was questioning herself now, but Quinn had decided weeks ago that Rachel needed to be pushed._

_Rachel's head remained bowed for a minute or two longer – Quinn wasn't sure of the time because she hadn't shifted her eyes from Rachel's form since she realized she was still in the classroom._

_It had become a habit, staring at Rachel._

_Finally, she reached down by her side and scooped up her bag, all the while keeping her eyes glued to her desk and – Quinn assumed – the words that Quinn had written on her paper. Slowly – reverently, Quinn liked to think – Rachel placed the piece of paper inside her bag and stood up, smoothing her skirt as she did so and straightening her shirt sleeve ever so slightly. And then she was walking to the door, her head held high now._

_But she never looked over at Quinn._

_Rachel's figure paused at the door. But the pause was so slight that Quinn later convinced herself that she had imagined it entirely._

_And then she was gone, and Quinn could do nothing but sit and wait for the next chapter in Rachel's story. She was fast becoming a prisoner to her own emotions and her lack of control over them._

* * *

There were just a few minutes before the bus was scheduled to roll out of the parking lot. Mr. Rumba had reiterated several times over the past week that they could not leave a minute late if they wished to get to Sectionals on time.

At this point, the bus was almost entirely full of excited students. A lot of them had never been able to travel for such things as school competitions, and the energy in the air was palpable. Quinn couldn't keep the smile off of her face, even as Mr. Rumba leaned over and (loudly) whispered to her that they couldn't wait much longer for their final student.

"She'll be here," Quinn said. "I'm sure she won't want to miss this."

Even as Quinn was speaking the words, a beat up old car pulled up alongside the bus. Quinn's heart beat a little faster at the sight of Rachel stepping out of the car. As she began to close the passenger door she had just climbed out of, a woman with long, dark hair leaned across the car, clearly yelling something to get Rachel's attention. Rachel turned back and accepted something from the woman's outstretched hand before closing the door.

The driver of the car accelerated out of the parking lot before Rachel had even taken a few steps towards the bus.

"Rachel!" Mr. Rumba happily exclaimed, lightly patting the girl on the shoulder as she climbed aboard. "So glad to see our piano player with us this morning."

Rachel kindly returned his smile before her eyes shifted around the bus, trying to find an open place to sit. Her eyes briefly locked with Quinn's before moving across the aisle to the last remaining empty seat on the bus. Quinn smiled encouragingly and nodded her head towards the open seat, and Rachel shyly grinned in return before taking it.

A few minutes into the bus ride, Mr. Rumba's head was leaned back against the seat in front of Quinn, and he was snoring lightly. Quinn smiled slightly to herself as she looked down at her lap, smoothing her long, flowing skirt against her thighs and reaching into her bag to grab the book her students were reading right now. She opened the book and began reading where she had left off.

And it was less than five minutes before Quinn's head was tilting to her right to catch a glimpse of the girl across the aisle from her. Rachel's head was bowed, and her legs were crossed as she stared down at the book that was folded open on her lap. Quinn smiled slightly to herself, resting her head in her hand as she blatantly stared – _observed _– Rachel.

It only took a few moments before Rachel tilted her head to her left, catching Quinn unashamedly staring – _observing_ – and Quinn was relieved when Rachel's lips shifted into a knowing smile instead of an unhappy frown. Quinn recovered quickly at having been caught and signed, _Good book?_ before gesturing towards the book in Rachel's lap.

Rachel replied by flipping up the cover of the book and showing it to her teacher. Quinn stared at "The Bell Jar" momentarily before asking, _Are you enjoying it so far?_

Rachel hadn't directly talked to Quinn all week. Maybe Quinn was still pushing it, and maybe she was pushing too hard at this point. But the part of Quinn that craved communication with the other girl was furiously beating down the part of Quinn that realized she should probably let the girl be. She just couldn't, not now that she had started.

And when Rachel responded, Quinn was sure that her smile was lighting up her face. _It's a great book,_ Rachel signed. _I've read it before, but it's been a while._ She paused, and Quinn leaned her head back against her seat, simply waiting for Rachel to continue. _I started reading it again a couple of days ago. Because of you, actually._

Quinn's eyebrows arched dangerously high as she gestured towards herself. _Me?_ she questioned.

Rachel nodded. _Your note_, she said. _It made me do a lot of thinking._

Quinn nodded, momentarily looking back down at her lap before turning again to sign, _I was worried that I might have pushed too hard. _She was constantly worried that she could still push too hard if she hadn't already. But she had no plans to stop.

_It was fine_, Rachel signed. _Like I said, it just made me do a lot of thinking._ She turned back to her lap and opened her book back open, flipping back a few pages. She scooted towards the aisle and held the book up towards Quinn, gesturing for her to read a few sentences that were underlined. Quinn reached forward, gently grabbing the left side of the book between her fingertips.

Their skin didn't touch. But Quinn could feel the warmth from Rachel's shoulder as she leaned forward to read.

_"The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence."_

Quinn was hesitant to lean back from the warmth and close proximity of Rachel's body, even though she had finished reading the words in front of her several times already. So she didn't, she only tilted her head on her shoulders in her student's direction and signed, _Does this remind you of yourself, of your own silence?_

_Have you read my assignment I turned in yesterday?_ Rachel asked instead of answering Quinn's question.

Quinn shook her head. _I haven't had a chance yet._

Rachel slowly nodded her head as she stared long and hard into Quinn's eyes. _You should probably read it then, before you try and dig any further beneath the surface, trying to figure out who I am._ She scooted away slightly, back into her seat, and Quinn's body ached at the loss. _I'm not really worth the trouble._

And then Quinn's heart ached and seemed to break apart in her chest – because Rachel had said it so nonchalantly that Quinn was convinced that she meant it, that she truly believed it. And that was the most unfortunate thing Quinn had ever heard in her short life.

Because she truly thought Rachel was worth every bit of trouble in the world.

* * *

Quinn and the members of the Haverbrook choir walked through the lobby of the auditorium where the Sectionals competition would be held. Mr. Rumba headed off towards the registration table and the kids began to mingle, still excited about the approaching performance.

Quinn was soon startled as she heard her name echoing through the lobby.

"Quinn Freaking Fabray!" Quinn turned quickly on the spot, looking around while trying to find the person shouting at her. "I can hardly believe my eyes!"

And then suddenly, Quinn stopped spinning and there stood Santana Lopez: Quinn's first love.

* * *

"So let me get this _straight_," Santana said, chuckling slightly at her own pun. "You went to college and ended up dating some _dude?_" Quinn nodded, one hand resting lightly on her crossed knees and the other propped on the back of the couch they were sitting on, bodies angled towards each other. "After we dated for _two and a half years_, you dated some _guy_ named… What was his name again?"

"Finn," Quinn replied, rolling her eyes and lightly punching Santana's leg. But Santana just laughed and reached out, grabbing Quinn's hand in hers before she could pull away. Quinn bit her lip and looked down at their conjoined hands and how their fingers had effortlessly slid together. Santana's skin had always been soft, softer than Finn's. Her lips, too.

"_Finn_," Santana drawled, rolling the name around on her tongue. "Gross, Q. So you suffered from head trauma or…?"

Quinn giggled quietly, her shoulders shaking. And then a blush crossed her cheeks as she realized that Santana was smiling at her with _that_ smile on her face, so she composed herself and answered, "Not head trauma, no. Call it an identity crisis."

"A lesbian identity crisis?" Santana's eyebrow rose (Quinn had to have learned it from _somewhere_, after all). "Now _that_ sounds completely unreasonable." They shared small smiles in the moment of silence that followed before Santana spoke again. "So have you straightened your gay ass out, theoretically speaking? Because I think it would be a travesty for the lesbian population of Ohio for you to _not_ be playing for our team anymore."

Quinn smiled and said, "No need to worry your pretty little head, I learned my lesson. He was a complete oaf, and it never felt right. But tell me about you. A show choir competition? You fought me tooth and nail to not join our glee club in high school, I always thought you hated it – even though your voice is amazing."

"Well, I had to keep up appearances. I was way too badass to join glee club of my own free will! And I'm just the assistant director for now, but these Carmel kids are really good. I got the teaching position, and then I gravitated towards the most talented group in school – you know how I do. So now, here I am!" Santana smirked before scooting closer to Quinn and mimicking her position. Their fingers were still intertwined, and her thumb was gently moving up and down Quinn's. "So, Haverbrook? You've been wanting to teach there forever. I'm not surprised in the slightest. And I'm proud of you, Quinn, I really am." Santana's words were sincere, and Quinn finally realized what the aching feeling in her chest was…

She had really missed this girl.

"Thanks, I really love it there..." Quinn trailed off and her eyes inadvertently moved through the space of the lobby around them, quickly landing on none other than Rachel Berry.

Damn her subconscious…

Unfortunately for Quinn, she couldn't look away soon enough as Santana quickly followed her gaze to the petite brunette sitting across the lobby on a bench, staring down at her book.

"_Really,_ Quinn? _Really?_" Santana questioned with a squeeze of Quinn's hand.

"What?" Quinn jumped, embarrassed at having been caught staring – _observing_ – a student.

"Quinn, that's dangerous territory." Santana turned back towards Rachel and appeared contemplative for a moment before saying, "But at least she's smokin'." She nudged Quinn's shoulder with her own. Quinn began to blush profusely as Santana – in a not-so-rare moment of blunt honesty – had acknowledged _easily_ what Quinn had been fighting against for months now. "Well babe, I need to get back to the kids. Good luck today, and promise to keep in touch?"

Santana stood, pulling Quinn to her feet with her. Quinn was normally a couple of inches taller, but Santana was wearing a pair of heels today that put her even with the blonde. "I promise, 'Ana," Quinn whispered softly.

Santana just smiled before sharply glancing across the room and then back to Quinn. "Someone's watching her favorite teacher," she chuckled. Quinn used up all of her will power in order to keep her eyes locked with Santana's. "Since she's watching…" Santana trailed off before leaning forward, placing one hand gently on Quinn's cheek, and lightly placing a lingering kiss near the corner of Quinn's lips.

Quinn's breath hitched momentarily – not only from the touch of Santana's skin that she hadn't felt in years, but from the burning gaze she knew Rachel was leveling on her in that moment.

"Do I still gots it?" Santana asked, adopting her faux-ghetto attitude that was all too commonplace when they had gone to high school together.

Quinn shook her head slightly with a smile on her lips. "Of course you do."

And then they were saying goodbye, and Quinn was left in the lobby, more confused about her feelings for Rachel than ever before – because, _yes_, she was beginning to admit that they were legitimate _feelings_.

And _that_, as Santana had wisely acknowledged, was dangerous territory indeed.

* * *

_A/N: Hi there. Rachel's final (I think) vignette about her childhood will be in the next chapter. Was going to be in this one, but I just liked ending it here instead. Plus, mmmmm yummy anticipation for some last insight into what makes Rachel tick…_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Silence of Silence**

Haverbrook did not win Sectionals. They didn't find themselves in second place either. They couldn't even hear the audience clap for them.

But they saw them stand on their feet in waves, and they saw their hands moving; they saw their mouths smiling and cheering.

And that was enough.

It was dark outside when Quinn headed to the bus with the students from Haverbrook and Mr. Rumba at her side. He squeezed her shoulder encouragingly, quietly (for once) saying near her ear, "We'll get 'em next year." Quinn just smiled at him in return as a feeling of familiarity and belonging crashed over her like a wave.

Patrick ran up from behind Quinn, playfully spooking one of his friends and receiving a punch to the shoulder in retaliation. He clutched his arm mockingly before smiling at Quinn and holding his hand up as she passed for a highfive. She chuckled and slapped the palm of her hand against his, and he smiled brightly at her before practically skipping off to converse with some of the other choir members.

As Quinn's eyes followed Patrick's path ahead and to the left, she caught sight of Rachel Berry, illuminated by one of the parking lot lampposts. And the girl was smirking.

_Smirking_.

But Quinn wasn't surprised, because Rachel Berry had been smirking at Quinn all frigging day long.

* * *

_Quinn watched Santana walk away, and she mentally told herself to keep her eyes anywhere but across the hall, to not give into the desire to see how Rachel had reacted to Santana's impromptu kiss._

_Or if she had even reacted at all._

_But Quinn's willpower had been so focused on controlling all of her __**feelings**__ lately that she simply could not find it within herself to __**not**__ look up and over…_

_And there Rachel Berry was, smirking._

_She was __**smirking**__._

_And as Quinn's cheeks distinctly flushed with heat, she fought the urge to look away. Instead, she squared her shoulders and resolutely walked across to the bench where Rachel was sitting and took a seat next to her. In the time it took Quinn to make it fully across the lobby, Rachel had lifted her book up in front of her nose again, but Quinn was still easily able to distinguish the smirk on the other girl's lips._

_Crossing her knees and smoothing out her skirt, Quinn folded her hands in her lap and asked, "Is the book still interesting?"_

_Rachel blinked a couple of times, continuing to smirk at the pages in front of her, before she lowered the book to her lap and turned towards Quinn. She signed, __**The book is good, but sometimes reality is more interesting.**_

_She stayed facing Quinn, staring her directly in the eye and generally refusing to look away. "Yes, well," Quinn replied, sure that the blush on her cheeks was becoming more pronounced by the second, "Santana never was one for modesty."_

_Rachel nodded. __**She's a very beautiful woman.**_

_Quinn tried to discern what Rachel's words meant – was she hinting at her sexuality? Was she jealous? Was she just making an observation? "Yes," Quinn said, eyes locked on the side of Rachel's face as the girl glanced back down at the now-closed book on her lap, "she's always been very beautiful."_

_**You've known her for a long time?**__ Rachel questioned, eyes once again lifting to Quinn's face._

"_Since we were twelve years old, yes. We dated for quite a while in high school."_

_Rachel nodded her head and smiled at Quinn. __**She was a very lucky young woman, then.**_

_Quinn laughed (and blushed some more). "She'd be the first to tell you that I was the lucky one, but that's Santana's cockiness for you."_

_**I stand by my statement**__, Rachel provided with the graceful and succinct movements of her hands._

_Then Mr. Rumba was suddenly there and gathering the students together for a last minute pep talk before their performance, and Quinn was left standing on the fringes of the group as she watched. And when her eyes caught Rachel's from across the circle, her heart skipped a beat at the still-present smirk on her lips. Their eyes remained connected for a length of time that was probably socially unacceptable, but Rachel wasn't relenting, so neither would Quinn._

_Quinn still couldn't believe that Rachel didn't think she was worth the trouble._

_And lord help her, because Quinn was on the verge of some Serious Trouble if something didn't change very soon._

* * *

There were fewer students on the bus on the way back to the school. Several students' parents had proudly made the three hour drive to where Sectionals was held, and most of those students chose to ride home in the comfort of their parents' vehicles.

As Mr. Rumba checked names off of his list to make sure all of the students were accounted for, Quinn removed her sweater from around her shoulders and folded it neatly, placing it next to her on the seat. She sat down and lifted her bag into her lap, pulling out the stack of Morrie assignments she needed to grade, a small light to read with, and her usual blue pen. Mr. Rumba gave the bus driver the signal that everyone was present and accounted for before promptly dropping down into his seat in front of Quinn and passing out.

It had been a long day.

Quinn placed her reading glasses on her nose and began reading through the first paper in her lap. Within a few minutes, she had finished the piece, made her notes, and placed it on the bottom of the pile. Before reading the next paper, she chanced a glance across the aisle to where Rachel was sitting.

The girl was low in her seat with her feet off the ground and her knees pressed into the seat in front of her. As Quinn watched, Rachel yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes fluttered closed with the yawn, but they opened once more and shifted in Quinn's direction once it had passed. Quinn smiled at the almost embarrassed look that crossed Rachel's face once she realized that Quinn had seen her yawning.

_Cute glasses_, Rachel signed, leaning her head back against the squeaky vinyl of her seat.

_Thank you,_ Quinn replied. _Tired?_ she questioned.

Rachel grinned. _A little, yes._ The sleepiness in her eyes betrayed the truth, and Quinn knew that she was on the verge of passing out.

_Here_, she signed, _take my sweater. I'm sure it will make a half-decent pillow._ She leaned across the aisle, extending the sweater to Rachel. The other girl looked down at the garment in Quinn's outstretched hand, hesitating only briefly before accepting it.

_Thank you_, she signed.

Quinn smiled softly, more with her eyes than her lips. _No problem_.

Rachel settled down in her seat again, and Quinn settled back into the soothing routine of grading papers.

After about two-thirds of the journey home was complete, Quinn found herself flipping the most recently graded paper to the bottom of the stack and coming face-to-face with Rachel's vignette. She shouldn't have been surprised; she had known it was there, that it was only a matter of time before she was presented the opportunity to learn more about the girl who was slumbering a few feet away.

But maybe she hadn't realized quite to what extent she had been anticipating this moment. Rachel thought that whatever was within these pages warranted her worthlessness, and that both saddened and scared Quinn.

So she began reading with the hope of gaining some semblance of understanding…

* * *

_**Maybe My Glass Was Always Too Full  
**__Let's Just Smash the Damn Glass Against the Wall Already_

_I may have only been ten-years old, but I knew what had happened._

_That night as I sat next to Daddy's hospital bed, I knew that Dad was gone even though no one had told me as much._

_My body was bruised and sore, and while the seatbelt left deep bruising across my chest, it had saved my life._

_Dad had saved my life._

_I remember waking up at one point before the ambulance got there. I could vaguely hear sirens in the distance, but they came in and out of focus as the rain continued pouring down around the car and the thunder resounded loudly in the night. My head was swimming in a fog of confusion and pain. I couldn't really move my arms, though I tried. My eyes focused first not on Daddy's head as it lay limply back against his headrest in front of me, but on the empty front passenger seat and the hole in the windshield and the shoe on the dashboard._

_Tears streamed down my face, and then my consciousness again faded to black. The next time I woke up, I was on a hospital bed, and I was alone and scared and wondering where on earth my parents were. But then I recalled that shoe sitting on the dash, and it all slammed down on my chest like a ton of bricks. And I had painfully forced my limbs into the fetal position, curled upon myself as I sobbed into the night._

_The nurse called the doctor in, and I was checked for a concussion. 'A miracle,' the doctor had said, 'that you've hardly got a scratch on you'. I didn't care. 'Can I see my daddy?' I asked in return. He had nodded, and the nurse escorted me to Daddy's room. I rode in a wheelchair for the first time ever, and I couldn't have cared less._

_Daddy was hurt. I saw casts on both of his legs and one of his arms. His head was wrapped in a bandage, and blood had visibly soaked through in one area. When a nurse came in soon after I arrived to change his bandages, I asked her if he was going to be ok. She had looked sympathetically at me, and I had mentally cringed. But she told me he would be ok._

_I was ten-years old, and I believed her._

_Some of Daddy's relatives helped us get back home two days later when we were able to leave the hospital. They started planning Dad's funeral the next day. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen as grandpa clasped Daddy's shoulder and helped him choose what type of casket they thought Dad would have liked. Daddy looked over, and I shuddered under his vacant stare._

"_Do you understand what has happened, Rachel?"_

_Never before had I heard that tone of voice come from him. He sounded as if he had died that night alongside Dad._

_Maybe he had._

_I nodded. "I think so… Dad is… Dad is gone?"_

_Daddy didn't nod. He didn't say anything. But he stared at me for a few more moments before beckoning me forward and hugging me._

_It was the last time he ever hugged me._

_I stood next to Daddy in his wheelchair as they lowered Dad's casket into the ground. It was a closed-casket ceremony. The last mental image I would ever have of Dad was him leaning back in the car, buckling my seatbelt, squeezing my knee with a smile. Or maybe it was that shoe on the dashboard. Daddy had been frustrated and difficult all day because his best suit – the one Dad had picked out for him and loved to see him in the most – hadn't fit over his casts._

_When we got home that afternoon, grandpa helped Daddy out of his wheelchair and into a chair in the living room. He placed the remote next to Daddy's hand, but Daddy didn't do anything._

_I was standing out in the hallway, leaning against the wall, when grandpa asked me, "Can I get you anything, honey?"_

_I shook my head. As soon as grandpa left, I went into the kitchen, reaching up on my tippy toes to the cabinet and grabbing a glass. I filled it with water, and I carefully carried it up to my room, trying not to spill it. But my toe caught on the last step, and I went flying, accidentally tossing the glass forward and getting water everywhere. It clattered to the ground and rolled down the hall as I winced at the carpet burns that stung my knees. I shakily stood to my feet and walked forward, picking up the glass. I entered my room without a drop to drink, staring at the empty glass in my hand. And then, before I was even able to fully grasp what I was doing, I threw it against the far side of my room as hard as my arms could manage._

_It shattered into a million pieces, and I sunk down to the ground with the realization that I was never going to see him again._

_I cried for the memories that we had made together._

_I cried for the future with him that I had lost._

_I cried for the show tunes that he would never sing with me again._

_I cried for the pain I knew Daddy was going through, because they had always been inseparable._

_I cried for the death of my dad._

_A week passed, and I still hadn't gone back to school. When grandpa would come over in the evenings, he never really questioned why I wasn't going back. Even if he had, he couldn't have understood. The kids always tormented me for having two dads, and there was no possible way I could handle that now that one of them was dead._

"_Marcus, you need to take your medicine." Daddy hadn't replied. He just sat there staring forward at the television screen. It was blank and lifeless, just like him. "You need to snap out of it, son. You have a daughter who is counting on you!" I don't think grandpa knew I could hear what he was saying._

_Daddy lived in that chair for a few days, hardly bothering to get out of it except to use the bathroom. I would take him a glass of water every once in a while or make him a sandwich. He wouldn't eat it, but I'd throw it away before grandpa came over so he would worry less._

_One afternoon as I took the uneaten sandwich away, Daddy spoke to me. "If you had just been quiet…" he said, his voice trailing off darkly. I stopped as my blood ran cold in my veins. I had turned back to him then, confusion and pain written across my face, telling the story of hurt and betrayal that I was feeling deep inside my chest. But he didn't say anything else. I knew. I understood._

"_Take your medicine, son," grandpa kept saying until, one day, Daddy finally listened._

_I woke up early that morning – not that I had been getting much sleep lately anyway, if any at all – and softly padded down the stairs. There was a silence in the air as I reached the bottom landing that caused my breath to catch in my throat. Instead of going into the kitchen and making myself a bowl of cereal, I found my bare feet carrying me into the living room._

_I knew before I even walked around Daddy's chair what he had done._

_The tall pill bottle lay empty and discarded on the floor underneath Daddy's open, still hand. He was ghostly pale, and his features looked stiff and unnatural. The shock, the horror of the situation, caused me to completely fall apart. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stand any longer. I backed up unsteadily towards the nearest wall and then slid unceremoniously to the ground._

_That was how grandpa found me twelve hours or so later, with my eyes wide and unseeing and my knees clutched tightly to my chest._

_I don't remember much about the funeral besides the fact that the casket was open. I remember walking up to the casket before anyone else. I gripped the edges underneath my fingertips and looked inside. The tiniest hint of a smile had been formed with Daddy's lips. And I knew right then, in that moment, that he was happier without me – that he was happier finding peace within the release of death._

_But I wasn't bitter towards Daddy. I only hoped that – wherever he was – he was with Dad. And at least now that he was gone, he could be free of me, free of the person who had caused the death of his one true love in the world._

_I still missed Dad to an almost unbearable extent._

_There were a few days of confusion as they tried to figure out what to do with me. Grandpa was old, but he still could have taken care of me, I'm sure. However, my parents' will specified otherwise._

_A tall woman with dark, wavy hair showed up one afternoon. Grandpa greeted her, and they walked into the living room to chat. On her way to the couch, she caught my eye from the hallway and held my gaze for a brief moment. Her eyes were sad and confused._

_After they had talked, grandpa called me into the room and explained what was going on. My dads' deaths and their specifications in their last documented will put me into the custody of one Shelby Corcoran. My birth mother._

"_Hi Rachel," she had said, extending a hand in my direction. My hand in hers felt so out of place. All I could picture were my dads' hands intertwined in front of me in the movie theatre and my hands on top of theirs. "It's nice to meet you." Her voice sounded unsure. "What do you think of maybe coming to live with me?" I knew it wasn't a maybe; I knew it was going to happen. It was what my parents had wanted, I guess. So I just nodded my head at her. "I live a pretty far drive from here. Do you think you'll mind going to a different school?" I immediately shook my head, but while this revelation should've brought some kind of happiness into my life, I still couldn't find it within myself to show any sign of truly caring._

_She probably thought it was odd that I didn't reply vocally, but she didn't say anything about it then. She helped me pack up all my belongings that afternoon, and I left with her the next day for some place called Lima. And still, she didn't call me out on my silence. And when I would come back with sign language books from the public library, she didn't question me. But once she realized what I was doing, she started asking to borrow the books before I returned them._

_Shelby had never really been a mom before, but for what she had to work with, I don't think she did half-bad._

_Dad's death is something I've blamed myself for a lot over the years. Despite the role I played in his death and my daddy's subsequent suicide, I've never lost that sense of familial love as I recall being sandwiched between them at the movies on my birthday or feeling their loving gazes on my back as I perused row after row of sheet music with joy etched on my face and in my heart._

_I still drink water like a camel when I feel scared or lost or sad, but I stopped throwing glasses against walls out of frustration and anger. I still think about Dad every single day – the man he was, the man he could still be, the perfection he was as a loving parent, and the brief lessons of life that he was able to teach me before he was gone._

_And I stopped talking. Because silence is a friend who will never betray._

* * *

Quinn's hand was clasped over her mouth as her shoulders shook and she tried to muffle the sob that was threatening to escape, to tear from her throat with a hateful vengeance. She reached forward with her free hand and flipped her small light off, and she descended into darkness in the tiny space of her seat on the bus.

Her heart was pounding violently against her ribcage. It made so much sense now that it _hurt_, and it made Quinn want to _scream_. All she wanted to do was bound across the few bare feet between herself and the slumbering girl across the aisle, to shake her awake, to yell the _truth_, and to force Rachel to see that her daddy had been wrong. It wasn't Rachel's fault, it wasn't. What good was her silence? What more could she have to hide from now that her story had been told?

Quinn wanted to, but she didn't.

She did, however, put all of her papers away in her bag, placing it gently on the floor, before turning sideways in her seat and pulling her knees up to her chest. She leaned heavily sideways against the back of her seat and stared at Rachel. The sparse lighting along the highway allowed infrequent flashes of illumination inside the bus, and Quinn eagerly took in every one of Rachel's features when she could.

A heartbreakingly beautiful sense of peace surrounded the girl as she slept, and Quinn felt herself finally slipping over the edge in that moment.

The bus finally pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the school. Rachel awoke from her slumber and sheepishly returned Quinn's sweater to her with a sign of thanks before taking out her cell phone and hastily typing a text.

Many of the students' parents were awaiting their arrival and quickly shuttled out of the parking lot with their kids in tow. After only ten minutes, the bus driver had departed, leaving only Mr. Rumba, Quinn, and Rachel.

"You've talked to your mother, Rachel?" Mr. Rumba questioned the girl.

_Yes_, she signed in return, blinking sleepily. _She's on her way. She should be here any minute_.

Mr. Rumba nodded and then proceeded to yawn loudly, stretching both of his arms above his head. Quinn pulled the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder and said, "Why don't you go ahead and go home? I can stay and make sure Rachel gets home safely with her mom."

He thanked Quinn and wished both of the girls a good weekend as he tiredly trudged off to his car. Soon, the two young women were in the parking lot alone. The chill caused a shiver to run down Quinn's spine, and she again handed Rachel her sweater. The girl gratefully took it when Quinn reassured her that she had another coat in the car, which she quickly retrieved. Rachel had followed Quinn to her car and now stood by semi-awkwardly.

"Let's have a seat, shall we?" Quinn questioned, gesturing towards the hood of her car. Rachel's small grin served as acknowledgment, and they were both soon sitting in the peaceful quiet of the still night air.

"I read the Morrie assignments on the bus ride back," the words left Quinn's lips quietly after they had been sitting amicably in silence for several long moments. She looked to her right, trying to catch Rachel's reaction. The other girl's head shot up, and her eyes questioningly searched Quinn's face for her own response. "I've never met anyone more worth getting to know in my entire life, Rachel."

Initially, Rachel seemed hesitant to accept the words that Quinn had just uttered. But this was the girl who had – for _years,_ apparently – told herself day in and day out that her voice, the person she was, directly resulted in the deaths of her parents. One comment of praise from someone she barely knew wasn't going to entirely turn the tide.

But it was a start.

Rachel carefully stepped down onto the asphalt of the pavement and turned to stand directly in front of Quinn. _I'm going to hug you now, if that's ok_, she signed.

Quinn could only nod as Rachel moved forward, wrapping her arms strongly around Quinn's back and holding on for dear life. Quinn's head swam with the close proximity of the other girl, and she found herself greedily breathing in the air surrounding Rachel, the smell of her shampoo. She found herself clutching at Rachel's back, feeling the fabric of her thin button-down shirt and the warmth of her skin underneath.

Lights pulled into the parking lot from the road, and Rachel pulled back slowly. Quinn struggled to breathe properly.

_Thank you_, Rachel signed with a bittersweet smile on her lips.

_For what?_ Quinn signed back. She didn't trust her voice.

Rachel continued to smile as she signed, _For giving me the best birthday I have had in a very long time_.

And then Rachel was jogging around Shelby's car and hopping into the passenger seat. Shelby waved in Quinn's direction and Quinn managed to wave back. And then they were gone.

As Quinn unsteadily climbed into her car and gave herself a few moments to compose her mind and body, she once again found herself wondering what on earth she was going to do about this glorious mess she found herself in.

* * *

_A/N: Hi. So I wrote Smirky!Rachel instead of Jealous!Rachel. And I know this was sort of dramatic and probably a bit sad, but now I hope it's clear why Rachel is the way she is. Thanks for taking the time to read, and I hope you've enjoyed this story so far. (P.S. – Rachel is 18 now, in case you're wondering, though any student-teacher relationships in Ohio [and in most places] are super illegal despite age, but hang in there because we'll make it work.)_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ** _There was some input from readers that became whatever brain child this chapter turned into. So if you see something that is familiar to you because you mentioned it to me before, it was definitely your inspiration that led to its creation into a readable form. So thank you, and you know who you are!_

**A/N 2: **_The first bit is a little sexually and linguistically explicit, so if that's not your thing… Just skip it. But it's my thing, so I wrote it (and I therefore hope you do enjoy reading it if you take the time). Enjoy!_

**The Silence of Silence**

_The door slammed loudly in its frame, and Quinn immediately found herself lying flat out on the bed._

"'_Ana," she moaned into the cool night air, head thrown back against the soft material of her pillow case. Her shirt was pooled in an already-forgotten pile by the door, and her lover was impatiently pulling at the button of her jeans. She moaned again as the other girl momentarily abandoned her quest to de-pants her and pushed the material of her bra from her breasts, palming them roughly and sucking on the sensitive flesh just beneath them. She was probably leaving a mark, but Quinn couldn't have cared less; she lacked the capacity of thought to protest such trivialities in that moment. _

_And it wasn't such a bad thing, really, being marked._

"_Fuck it," Santana growled. Her hands were suddenly back at Quinn's waist, and the button went flying as she ripped the clasp apart. Quinn would have laughed – if it hadn't turned her on beyond belief. "Sorry about your pants, baby," Santana whispered against the soft, tender flesh just below Quinn's bellybutton. Her hot breath and her teeth and her tongue followed her words, and Quinn's eyes were rolling back in her head._

"_It's fine," Quinn panted, devoid of all coherent thought. "It's fine." One of her fists clenched in the bedspread at her side – it was white and fluffy and soft and a wonderful object to hold onto when her girlfriend was mercilessly teasing her like this. "Don't tease anymore," Quinn pleaded. "Just fuck me."_

_Santana didn't immediately respond. The air was light, and the atmosphere was surreal as Quinn looked down the flat lines of her body – as she looked down and into Santana's eyes as the other girl stared up at her from where she was hovering just over Quinn's exposed center. The Latina's eyes shone brightly as they seemed to absorb the dim lights in the room and reflect them back a hundred fold into Quinn's, and the blonde felt her breath hitch at the need and the want and the pure lust directed at her. She nodded her head, unable to swallow around the tightness in her throat caused by her own overwhelming arousal. 'Please', she would have whispered if it were possible. 'Please, just be inside of me already', but she couldn't. Luckily for her achingly stimulated body, Santana knew her._

_God, did Santana know her._

"_You got it, babe." The words were lifted along with Quinn's keening moan to the ceiling and to nothingness as Santana's tongue finally connected with her lover's wetness._

_Quinn's thighs clenched painfully tight as her toes curled and her body shook and her hands frantically grabbed for a firmer hold, finding the long, soft locks of Santana's dark hair easily even as her eyes were screwed steadfastly shut. "San… San, fuck. God… I can't even…" And then Quinn was calling out, "Baby!" And she wanted to proclaim that she was on the edge, she was falling, she was going to come – and she was going to come fucking hard – but she couldn't say a word. Because her body was coiled like a damn spring, ready to burst forth at any moment. She could only exist as waves of pleasure poured down over her body relentlessly, as frantic moans escaped her lips heedlessly, as her fingertips clenched and unclenched in the soft hair underneath them._

_A few moments passed. Quinn felt the gentle caress of lips against the soft, tender skin of her inner thigh. Her eyelids fluttered closed once again as she reveled in the moment that had come and gone and the bliss that was left in its wake. She caressed the top of the head that was still between her legs before opening her eyes and looking down. The smooth shoulders between her thighs subtly rippled as her lover maneuvered her hands up and down Quinn's legs. And Quinn's body was still on fire from her orgasm, so all she could do was continue to shudder and moan and drip._

"_Baby," she finally managed to whisper to the dark waves of hair obscuring her lover's face. "Come up here with me," she added in a near-whisper. "Please."_

_Teeth nipped playfully at her flesh before the sex-tousled hair was thrown over a shoulder – a shoulder that was previously a blank canvas but now sported a single freckle that caused Quinn to involuntarily lick her lips – and then she was faced with a sight that had her inner walls clenching and her mouth watering and her face surely burning with lust like she had never felt before in her life._

_Because Santana had crawled down her body, and Santana had pleasured Quinn a few minutes before as she had many times in what seemed to be a previous lifetime. But now, it wasn't Santana crawling seductively back up her body with her bottom lip between her teeth and her hair falling over one shoulder in waves and her eyes literally smoldering with passion._

_It was Rachel._

_Quinn finally managed to exhale, and it took more self-control than she had ever had to exert in her entire life. Because if she didn't convince her body to breathe in these precious moments, she was going to pass out. And that could not happen._

"_Rachel…" Quinn trailed off, still afraid of breaking whatever spell she was under. "How is this happening?"_

_But whether or not Quinn willed the words to pour forth from Rachel's grinning lips with her entire body and soul, it was for nothing – because Rachel just moved herself further and further up Quinn's body, her hands on either side of Quinn's head and her legs straddling Quinn's hips. She could feel heat emanating from the other girl, and she almost came undone again as the brunette ducked her head to the side of her face. Her warm, sweet breath engulfed Quinn's skin as Rachel moved from her ear to her cheek and down to her lips._

_But their skin never touched. What Quinn would have given in that moment – to simply lean forward and crash their lips together, driven by the frustration she felt at still not knowing the sounds the other girl could produce, driven by the pool of lust between her legs, driven by the darkness and the unknown and the endless possibilities hidden within those wise eyes staring down at her._

"_Rachel, I don't –"_

_But Quinn stopped speaking as Rachel leaned slightly back, placing her index finger against her lips in a gesture asking for silence. So Quinn stopped speaking – she almost stopped breathing, for goodness' sake – and she just listened. And the silence engulfed her. And she could hear her heart pounding in her ears as the blood rushed south. She heard as Rachel's tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and she watched as Rachel trailed her finger down her own neck and between her breasts, past her most intimate area and between their bodies._

_And then Quinn threw her head back and screamed as Rachel's fingers found her in the darkness._

* * *

Quinn literally woke herself up as a moan tore from her throat. She immediately slammed her eyes shut again, naturally inclined to seek out the continued pleasure of the magnificent dreamscape she had been lucky enough to fall into in these early morning hours. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and it took a full minute of lying there, willing sleep to come to her again, before she finally realized that sleep was most certainly not going to grace her with its presence.

She groaned and sat straight up in bed, blinking slowly several times and wondering why her subconscious so obviously hated her.

Glancing at the clock, she noted that it would be a whole hour before her alarm went off. "Dammit," she mumbled under her breath as she leaned down, stretching her back and touching her blanket-covered toes.

So Quinn threw off her covers and got dressed in her workout clothes and she ran until the muscles in her legs burned – anything to take her mind off of the throbbing ache between her thighs.

* * *

Quinn almost slipped on a patch of ice in the crosswalk in front of Haverbrook. She chuckled to herself once she realized that she hadn't broken her neck. She waved to parents as they dropped their kids off and continued on her path to the front doors. The scarf around her neck was coming loose, so she grabbed one of the ends and purposefully tucked it in another warm loop against her chilled skin.

Winters in Ohio could really suck.

As Quinn approached the door, footsteps quickly drew near. She tilted her head slightly to glance at whoever was coming up towards the school in tandem with her and found her foot losing its grip on _another_ patch of ice. She started to fall, but an arm was quickly wrapped around her waist, and her savior's other hand was grasping onto one of her own mittened-hands, steadying her.

Once they had successfully stepped over the patch of ice, Quinn turned to thank –

Rachel Berry.

"Thank you, Rachel," she both signed and spoke the words. And if her cheeks hadn't already been tinged pink by the bitingly cold winds, they would have been flushed with her embarrassed blush. Because it had felt so good to have that arm around her waist that Quinn had known exactly who had kept her from falling without even having to see the girl's face.

_You're welcome_, Rachel replied, smiling brightly and reaching out to hold the door open for Quinn.

Quinn just smiled kindly before passing inside the building and unwinding her scarf. She signed in and proceeded to walk towards her classroom. She couldn't help but glance around the hallway for a glimpse of Rachel, but the girl had already disappeared.

As she dismissed her final class of the day – and the last school day before the semester ended and winter break began came to a close – Quinn sighed contentedly before plopping down in her desk, something she hadn't really had the opportunity to do all day as her schedule had kept her very busy. And as Quinn finally allowed herself to begin packing up her things for the holiday, she found a green envelope wedged in between a stack of papers.

Curious now, Quinn slipped the tip of her finger underneath the seal and opened it up, pulling out a beautiful holiday card in the process. She read the words – of the season's joy and happiness and your typical holiday cheer commercialism – before tracing the words that were handwritten below the card's inscribed message.

_Thank you for everything you've done this semester.  
I truly appreciate it more than I could ever adequately express.  
Looking forward to seeing you again in the new year,  
Rachel_

And next to Rachel's loopy scrawl that Quinn had become accustomed to was a gold star sticker.

Quinn grinned; it lit up her face and caused her eyes to crinkle happily.

As she finished packing up her things, Quinn failed to notice the figure of Rachel Berry peeking in through the window in her classroom door. When Quinn had smiled at the words Rachel had written, delicately running her fingertips against the inside of the card, Rachel couldn't help but smile from ear to ear before ducking her head to her chest and heading home for the holidays.

* * *

"It's a relatively small but dedicated group of people. Our numbers are growing though!" Will exclaimed excitedly from the driver's seat of his car as he drove through downtown Lima. They were headed towards the Lima Community Theatre to help start building sets and making costumes for the upcoming production of _A Christmas Carol_ that the guild had been preparing for.

Quinn nodded her head at Will, even though he was looking through his windshield wipers and into the dark night that was swirling with quickly falling snow, so he clearly couldn't see her gesture. "It sounds great. I always loved Dickens' story, and it's been a couple years since I helped with a play production."

Will continued to chatter about the guild's past productions – specifically the previous spring's production of _Les Miserables_ which featured Will in the lead role. And then, before Quinn even felt the gears in the conversation shifting, Will was mentioning the beautiful, red-headed counselor whom Ken had been attempting to woo for the past few months. "Yeah, she's just great! A little on the compulsive side, but it's more endearing than anything, you know?"

"Yeah, from what you've told me of her, she sounds charming." Quinn smiled in Will's direction, and he returned the smile as they were stopped at a red light.

"I really don't think she's interested in Ken. It's a shame though, because his heart has really been set since he laid eyes on her."

Quinn could hear it in his voice. Will was in serious _like_ with this Miss Pillsbury woman. "So she doesn't reciprocate Ken's feelings?"

Will frowned slightly and shook his head. "No," he replied. "I really don't think she does."

"Well, maybe she has her eyes on someone else," Quinn supplied with a teasing lilt to her voice.

But Will clearly didn't catch the hint of humor as his head swiveled towards her immediately. "What? Who do you think she could like?"

Quinn couldn't help but giggle behind her hand as Will continued to look like a deer caught in headlights at the suggestion that Emma could be lusting after another faculty member. "Will," Quinn managed out between her giggles, "I meant _you_. She probably has feelings for _you_."

Will's face lit up, and his dimple-inducing grin was immediately contagious. "Do you really think so?"

* * *

When they arrived at the theatre, Quinn hastily – but cautiously – ran from Will's car to the backstage entrance. The snowstorm was bordering on blizzard conditions at this point, and Quinn began to worry that they would have difficulty getting back to their apartment by the time they finished with the staging.

"Brrr," Will shivered loudly as he ran inside the back door behind Quinn, allowing it to slam shut behind him. "It's starting to look nasty out there!" Their arrival sparked interest in the cast and crew who were busily working on set pieces and tailoring dresses and pants to fit. Will shrugged out of his coat and scarf before loudly announcing, "Hey everyone! This is Quinn. I talked her into helping us out tonight."

A chorus of greetings assailed Quinn's senses, and she smiled kindly as numerous guild members moved to shake her hand and introduce themselves. Quinn did her best to memorize names and faces, but there was quite a large group of them, really, so no one could fault her for not remembering _everyone_.

But when one woman stepped forward, shook her hand, and said, "Hello, my name is Shelby. It's nice to meet you," Quinn knew that she wouldn't be forgetting this face. Because it so closely resembled one that she literally saw most days (and most nights as well, really).

"Hi, it's nice to meet you as well," Quinn replied, smiling brightly and keeping it simple. _I wonder_… Quinn's thoughts trailed off as Will waved her over. She excused herself from Shelby's company and followed him across the room to where a half-painted side of a house was standing.

"Here Quinn, we'll start you off easy! Rachel here is just starting to put on the final coats of paint to all of these pieces, so you can help her finish up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to have my costume fitted." Will smiled with the innocence that came from being truly _innocent_ as he unknowingly introduced teacher to student and waltzed off across the room.

And Quinn hadn't yet said anything because she was momentarily stymied by the image that was currently filling her vision: a Rachel Berry with her hair up in a ponytail and paint smudged on her nose, peeking through one of the set-house's open windows. She waved at Quinn through the window with a lovely smile on her face, and Quinn felt herself grinning like a fool and waving back.

"Hi Rachel," Quinn said, her hands moving excitedly and, perhaps, betraying just how happy she really was to see the girl.

Three full weeks away might have been more than Quinn was capable of handling, so this was a surprise that she was more than willing to deal with.

_Hi Miss Fabray_, Rachel responded. Her hands also moved quickly, and Quinn saw more than mere traces of excitement in the other girl's own facial features. _There's an extra paintbrush behind you. I'm almost done with this side, and then we can move on to the next piece._

Quinn nodded and easily fell into a friendly conversation with the other girl as they proceeded to paint. And paint, and paint. It was fun, but treacherous – because Quinn was treading _that line_, and her toes kept slipping off and into the wrong side. With each touch of her hand to Rachel's shoulder, with every brush of her thumb against a splatter of paint on the other girl's cheek, Quinn was losing another battle in the war she had been waging against her feelings for months now.

Suddenly, the entire theatre – including the backstage where several people were still busily working – was plunged entirely into darkness. Someone across the room to Quinn's left screamed. The blizzard – because it was definitely an official blizzard at this point – must have caused a power outage.

The paintbrush she had been using was dangling, forgotten, from the fingertips of Quinn's right hand. But as commotion began to break out in the space around them – people shouting for candles or flashlights or anything, really, to light the pitch black space – Quinn was startled as fingertips were suddenly touching her left hand. And before she had time to breathe or react or pull away, Rachel's hand had found its way completely into hers.

Maybe it was something about the storm. Or the darkness. Or the near-panic that the grown men and women around Rachel were exuding. But whatever it was, it had her scared enough that Quinn could sense the trembling of her fingers against Quinn's.

So without thought of repercussion, without consideration of negative stigmas or the difference between right and wrong, Quinn lightly, comfortingly, squeezed Rachel's hand with her own. She turned her head in the direction she knew Rachel's body was located, and she said, "It's gonna be ok, I promise." And with their only form of communication snuffed out with the lights, Quinn could only reassure Rachel through her whispers. And Rachel could only convey her thanks to Quinn through the touch of their fingertips.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Silence of Silence**

The darkness continued to permeate everyone's sense of sight in the backstage area. There were mildly frantic, shuffled footsteps and whispers, but nothing was really being resolved.

There had been a moment where some brave (or perhaps slightly deranged) cast member had tried to prop open the back door. The dimmest of light had briefly illuminated a strip of floor leading back towards the tailoring area, but the snow was piled high outside and the door couldn't be opened any further. Also, it was bitingly cold. So that idea was quickly abandoned.

"_It's gonna be ok, I promise."_

Rachel clutched tightly onto Miss Fabray's hand, but she also grasped desperately onto those words.

Because the darkness scared Rachel for some reason that she couldn't quite explain. The darkness scared Rachel almost more than the thought of speaking again.

Because Rachel had definitely been thinking about talking again…

The silence of her past eight years had been safe. It had been safe and solid and untouchable. But suddenly, there was this new person in Rachel's life – a teacher, at that – who was pushing her. Miss Fabray – beautiful, lovely Miss Fabray with her kind eyes and her sincere smile. Rachel felt it. She felt it every day in class. She saw it with every handwritten note on her assignments. She knew it was there from the first second she walked into her classroom and briefly locked eyes with her teacher. But over the past several weeks, Rachel had been _noticing _things. And she had been _feeling _things that she absolutely did _not_ want to feel for Miss Fabray.

Because Rachel wanted to feel these things for _Quinn_. And Rachel realized that this was ok – because she _definitely_ felt them for Quinn. She didn't question that for even a second.

Yes, Miss Fabray's eyes were kind and her smile was sincere. But _Quinn's_ eyes were deep and enthralling. And _Quinn's _smile was sexy and captivating. When Rachel caught _Quinn_ looking at her during a film in class, her heart would flutter rapidly and her stomach would twist – but the twist was unexpectedly pleasant and heartfelt and…

_Right._

Because Rachel knew there was _so much_ wrong with this situation that they found themselves in.

But Rachel couldn't get herself to care.

Ever since Quinn had written those words on her paper – _"Are you living?" _– Rachel had been a goner. She had realized that, no, she absolutely was not. And the thought that she wasn't living – the thought that she was potentially disappointing Quinn and probably her parents on some level – didn't sit right in Rachel's chest. At the young age of nine, she had opened her mouth and sung and _stunned_ people. What if she hadn't stopped singing then? How would her talent be manifested _now_? Would she move people to tears with the depth and breadth and raw skill she possessed?

These questions were relatively new to Rachel's self-conscious because she really hadn't allowed herself to think about them in _years_ – they were irrelevant to her life because she had made a decision to _make_ them irrelevant a long time ago. Up until a certain point – a certain point at which Quinn had waltzed in from stage right and left her flailing and uncertain as to what exactly _the hell_ she was doing anymore – Rachel had been unwavering in her dedication to her self-imposed vow of silence. But now, Rachel was questioning _everything_.

Because she wanted to live and learn and grow as a person. She wanted to talk again.

Or maybe she just wanted to talk again because it was dark and cold and she was scared and she couldn't communicate with _anyone_ – let alone the person she wanted to speak to the most. The person she _wanted_ the most…

Rachel thought about what it would feel like to talk again. She literally hadn't spoken in eight years. Though there were still nights when she would wake herself up, sobbing uncontrollably in her sleep. And there were discernable sounds in her cries in those moments between sleep and consciousness. So she knew her vocal cords still worked.

It was a small comfort.

Perhaps she had squandered whatever talent she had been blessed with in her youth by shutting it off, hiding it away. If her voice was no longer suited for the stage – or even for the shower, as far as Rachel knew – she felt she could live with that. But only because, really, it was a price she truly thought she deserved to pay. And whether or not her voice was functional any longer was really of little importance to Rachel.

Because her silence had set her on a direct course to crash headfirst into Quinn Fabray.

And Rachel thought it felt something a lot like destiny…

* * *

Quinn's eyes had mostly managed to adjust to the dark. She turned her head to the side, past the silhouette of Rachel's rigid, trembling form, and saw a stack of boxes – or something box-shaped. The darkness made it difficult to know for sure. With a squeeze to Rachel's hand with her own, Quinn had the other girl follow her a few steps over where they took a seat together, leaning back against the – confirmed – boxes. Quinn crossed her jean-clad legs in front of her. In the darkness, she saw Rachel draw her own knees up to her chest, resting her head against her thighs.

It was starting to get cold in the building. Quinn's eyes darted around the room. A few people had their cell phones out, trying to find alternative light sources in the all-consuming darkness. Quinn's brow furrowed as she realized that her cell phone was sitting on her desk in her bedroom.

"Do you have a cell phone with you, Rachel?" Quinn asked quietly.

She saw Rachel shake her head 'no', even in the gloominess. But Rachel, most likely uncertain as to whether or not Quinn had understood, turned Quinn's hand over in her own and wrote the word out against the skin of Quinn's palm. The tip of her index finger remained, hovering, over the sensitive skin of Quinn's hand for a few moments – a few moments in which Quinn had to force herself to breathe.

"That's ok," Quinn replied. "The darkness isn't so bad." Rachel was silent, but Quinn hadn't really expected much else from her. And that was ok.

"One time, when I was a little girl, I remember this terrible snowstorm coming through town. It was only eight or so in the evening, but it was already dark outside, and our whole street lost power." Rachel's fingers were again wrapped around Quinn's hand. "My mom had this cabinet that was full of candles, so that was where we headed first. I stubbed my toe on the banister while I was trying to walk behind my mom." Quinn found herself stroking the skin along the back of the other girl's hand, marveling at the softness and the fact that Rachel had stopped trembling entirely. "We finally got into the kitchen and to the cabinet, and we started pulling out all these candles. And then we realized that there wasn't a single lighter anywhere close." Quinn chuckled lightly at the memory, the surreal atmosphere of a house that was pitch black with her mom's futile search for a lighter that it turned out they didn't own. "Eventually, we found a couple of flashlights. My first instinct was to grab one and run back upstairs and to my little brother's room. He was hiding under his bed, but I got him to come out, and we made shadow puppets against the wall."

Quinn hadn't thought about that night in a long time. She hadn't thought about what it must have been like for little Caleb to find his most attuned sense suddenly useless, his only mode of communication taken from him so easily. He had been afraid when Quinn had found him. He had been shaking and crying silently with his arms wrapped around a stuffed dinosaur. But Quinn had comforted him and eased his fears. And when the power returned and the storm had mostly receded, he had thanked her with a hug that had knocked her flat on her back.

Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand, and it was as if she was silently asking, '_And then?_'

"And then… the lights came back on," Quinn finished. The words came out in a whisper, and Quinn wanted to believe that she wasn't leaning forward. She wanted to believe that Rachel wasn't moving forward as well. But they were, and she knew it was true because her eyes were well adjusted at this point. _God_, they were both moving forward and Quinn was holding her breath and they weren't just holding hands but lacing their fingers together and Rachel was _right_ next to Quinn with their knees touching and –

And then… the lights came back on.

Quinn felt as if she had jinxed the situation. She found herself momentarily stunned as her pupils adjusted to the flickering lights overhead as power again surged through the building. A couple of people cheered. Sandy Ryerson could be heard calling out, "About time, people! Now, let's get back to work! There are things to do and no time to rest. William, _no_, that's absolutely the wrong shade of lavender for your skin tone…"

The situation was one of _those_. One of those where, again and again and _again_, Quinn found herself slipping and falling and _losing_. She was _desperately_ losing, really. Because her lips were parted and wet and she was breathing heavily across them. And it was all because Rachel's pupils were still fully dilated, even in the now-bright lights, and she was staring at Quinn with possibly the most _intense _look _ever_.

What felt like full minutes only translated into a few seconds, and Quinn was glad when her rationale finally returned and she leaned back quickly, releasing Rachel's fingers from between her own. "See?" she said, unable to break the connection she had forged between her own eyes and Rachel's. "I told you it would be ok."

* * *

"Opening night always makes me nervous," Will said as he paced around the island in the kitchen, fretfully adjusting the lapel of his blazer that he would be sporting in act one. His shirt was a deep burgundy, but only because Sandy had insisted that the lavender was absolutely preposterous.

Sitting at the small dining room table with her laptop open in front of her and her glasses perched on her nose, Quinn turned her head momentarily in Will's direction. She quickly eyed him from head to toe before turning back to her screen and typing in a few final notes about her spring syllabus. "You look great, Will," she said easily. The small smile on her face gave her words a genuine quality, an echo of comfort and certainty, so Will finally stopped pacing and sat down in the seat across from her.

He straightened the cuffs of his sleeves one final time before laying his arms out on the table in front of him. "Emma's coming tonight."

Quinn closed her laptop and took her glasses off. Folding and setting them to the side, she observed Will. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and she could feel his leg bobbing up and down underneath the table.

He was legitimately _panicky_.

Something about his uncharacteristic display of anxiety caused Quinn to giggle. Will looked scandalized as Quinn tried to suppress her laughter. "I'm sorry," she managed to choke out, "but it's kind of adorable that you're so terrified right now." Will's expression shifted into one of faux-irritation, and Quinn held her hands up in a placating gesture. "No, no. I'm sorry. Again. Listen, you've been a performer for a long time. Once you get on that stage, your nerves won't be an issue. Just don't think about it too much." Will looked skeptical that it could possibly be that easy. "It'll all work out for the best," Quinn added.

"You're probably right, Quinn," Will replied, hopping up again and quickly checking to make sure he hadn't ruined the crease in his pants. "Well, I'm gonna head over there now. I left a ticket for you at the front, so you're all set."

"Great! Thanks, Will." She smiled at him as he headed for the front door, grabbing a coat on his way. When his hand was on the doorknob, Quinn called out, "Hey, Will?"

With the door halfway open, he turned towards her. "Yes?"

Quinn's smile grew as she said, "Break a leg tonight."

He chuckled as he threw his head back, a lovely dimple-inducing smile on his face. He winked at Quinn and said, "You know it," as he headed out the door.

Several minutes later found Quinn in her bedroom, trying (and failing spectacularly) to pick out an outfit. It shouldn't have been that difficult. She knew she wanted to dress up – it was opening night, after all – but she also had to think about the cold weather. It would probably be wise to be practical in this situation.

And yet, there was a part of Quinn that couldn't help thinking… _Rachel_ was going to be there.

So Quinn reached into her closet and pulled out the lovely, skin-tight, dark red dress that she had been looking for an opportunity to wear for a while now. It fell to just below her knees, and she had a pair of heels that would compliment it perfectly. And with the color, it was kind of Christmas-y, right?

Quinn didn't care. She just wanted to look hot.

Even as she thought the words, a burning sense of guilt spread through her chest and her stomach. But Quinn ignored it as she zipped the dress up. She slipped on her heels and threw her hair up into a low bun with soft tendrils of blonde hair drifting into her face. She observed herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door.

And then – with the sense of guilt still gnawing incessantly on her insides – she left the apartment and headed towards the theatre. The entire drive, she kept reminding herself about _the line_. Not to cross it. _Don't cross the line, Quinn_, she kept saying over and over to herself. But the almost-_almost_-kiss from the week prior would float to the forefront of her mind, and Quinn realized that she shouldn't be telling herself not to cross the line, not really.

No, Quinn realized that she should be telling herself to _run _– to run as fast and as far from that line as she possibly could, and that she should start running _now_.

But yet another part of Quinn remained calm with the understanding that she had lost all ability to turn her back on the situation a long time ago.

* * *

Quinn graciously accepted her ticket from the woman at the front box office before walking into the main seating area. She took a seat off to the left side, a few rows from the front. She quietly perused the playbill for several minutes. Other members of the public slowly filtered in, taking seats all around Quinn. But she refused to look up, knowing that there was one specific individual that she would be looking for if she did.

And when that one specific individual took the seat to her right, Quinn knew it almost immediately.

Allowing her eyes to trail slowly upwards, Quinn took in the beautiful sight of Rachel Berry in a form-fitting black dress. Clearly, she had dressed up in honor of opening night as well. Her mother was one of the leads, so it made sense.

"Good evening, Rachel," Quinn spoke and signed. "Are you excited for tonight?" She hoped it wasn't too obvious that she herself was excited and nervous and _scared_. She felt like a little girl again, a little girl with a crush.

Rachel smiled with her eyes, her lips curling up cutely without quite showing her teeth. It was sweet and charming and Quinn thought – not for the first time or even the twentieth time – that she was in big trouble. _Good evening, Miss Fabray. I'm very excited. Shelby has really been looking forward to this. She also seems quite infatuated with your roommate, just so you know._

Quinn's eyebrows rose. First, because Rachel didn't refer to her mother as such. Second, because it appeared that Will – the epitome of forever-bachelor material – now had _two_ potential lady friends.

Scandalous.

"Very interesting," Quinn said, truly curious about this development. Rachel tilted her head slightly to the side and questioned Quinn with her eyes, wondering what exactly it was Quinn wasn't saying about her roommate.

Before more could be said between the two, the final audience members were ushered to their seats as the lights flickered overhead.

_Showtime,_ Rachel signed. Quinn grinned and nodded, crossing her left leg over her right and folding her hands over the playbill in her lap.

It was only a matter of moments before the lights dimmed entirely, coming back up slowly to the first scene of the play.

And it was only a matter of a quarter of an hour before Rachel had crossed her right leg over her left. It was only a few seconds after that when her foot bumped gently – almost imperceptibly – against Quinn's left leg. Quinn tried not to notice. She tried to focus on Will's delivery of his lines and how great the sets looked, how she had helped make this play come together in the final week of preparation. She _tried_, but she failed. Because Rachel's foot hadn't just bumped against her skin, it was now resting against the back of her calf. And Quinn could feel _everything – _the soft, warm touch of the top of Rachel's foot against her, the ever-so-incredibly-subtle exertion of pressure there…

Quinn couldn't help herself. She tore her eyes from the scene and looked down at her hands, but then her eyes shifted to Rachel's lap – where her dress, already too short for this god-forsaken Ohio-cold, had ridden up slightly. Swallowing thickly around the lump that had formed in her throat, Quinn tried not to think too much about the exposed skin of Rachel's thigh. The skin that, in her dreams, Quinn was more than a little familiar with…

As Quinn forced her eyes away from the treacherous vicinity of Rachel's legs, she attempted to subtly glance at the other girl's face. And what she saw – though she later wondered why she had expected anything less from Rachel – was acknowledgment in the form of a smirk. Because Rachel knew _exactly_ what she was doing. And, at this point, Rachel also knew that _Quinn_ knew exactly what was happening as well.

But anymore acknowledgment from either party could cause their precariously stacked house of cards to fall.

So Quinn mimicked Rachel, turning back to the play and continuing to watch with rapt attention. But Quinn's senses were focused not on the actors and their lines, but on every single movement – every _caress_ – of Rachel's skin against hers. Because Quinn may have been familiar with Rachel's touch in her dreams, but this was real life.

By the time the play finished, Quinn's leg was terribly cramped from remaining so still the entire time. But it had been worth it.

* * *

Quinn stood back and watched from one of the aisles as Will accepted hugs and handshakes and congratulations from viewers and fellow cast members alike after the show. His smile was contagious as he hugged a petite redhead – a lovely young woman who Quinn assumed was Emma. Quinn didn't fail to catch the slightly crestfallen expression on Shelby Corcoran's face as Will then took Emma's hands in his own and talked animatedly to her for several minutes.

After almost everyone was gone, Will hopped down from the stage and made his way to Quinn. He opened his arms and she stepped into them, giving him a hug and telling him how great he was and how impressed she had been. He just beamed and invited Quinn out for drinks with the rest of the adult members of the cast. She nodded enthusiastically and said she would most certainly meet them at the bar across town that was – apparently – the only bar worth frequenting in Lima.

As Quinn turned to leave, she caught sight of Rachel and Shelby out of the corner of her eye. Shifting in their direction, she waved goodbye towards Rachel. The other girl easily caught the gesture, returning it while biting her lip in a _not_ shy way. Quinn tried not to trip over her own feet.

The frigid cold should have been Quinn's first warning that she had left her coat inside. But, for _some_ reason, Quinn had been distracted. She had been driving for a few minutes before she realized what she had done and made the decision to turn back, hoping that the theatre was still unlocked and she could hurry inside and grab her coat before heading out to meet Will and the others.

The front entrance was still open – the janitorial staff were probably cleaning after the production – and Quinn slipped inside quickly, brushing off a few soft snowflakes from her shoulder that had just begun to fall. Most of the lights were off, but Quinn found her way into the main seating area. There was a partial wall near the back entrance, and Quinn stopped behind it as she entered the main theatre. All of the lights in this area were off.

Except for one light on the stage. And there stood Rachel Berry with an acoustic guitar. Quinn recognized the guitar. It belonged to one of the actors, and he always had it backstage when they were working. Randomly during the times Quinn was helping with the set, he would hop over and pick it up, easily strumming out some melody or another and singing along brightly; before long, everyone would be singing and laughing along with him. Everyone, that is, except for Rachel.

Quinn continued to stand stock still, completely mesmerized by the girl onstage. She was sitting on a stool; her legs were crossed again with the guitar resting on her thigh. She was strumming softly, seemingly without purpose or direction. But Quinn's ears had long ago become accustomed to searching for the slightest hint of pitch or tone or _sound_ coming from Rachel Berry, and there was definitely sound coming from more than just the guitar. Quinn could hear the faintest echo of humming, and her heart started pounding furiously against her ribcage.

She attempted to mold herself to the wall, abruptly and inexplicably desperate to not be seen. This was a moment for Rachel that Quinn didn't feel the right to intrude upon. But she also couldn't bring herself to turn and walk away. She couldn't have even if she wanted to, and she really just didn't want to.

Suddenly, the strumming took on a pattern. In just a few bars, Quinn recognized the song. She was holding her breath, waiting on the vocal entrance. Because Rachel was either going to sing, or she wasn't.

And Quinn was certain she was going to lose it either way.

It came time for the lyrics to be sung, and Quinn squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

And what she heard next was Rachel's voice.

_When I was younger,  
I saw my daddy cry,  
And curse at the wind.  
He broke his own heart,  
And I watched  
As he tried to reassemble it…_

Her eyes immediately snapped open. She noticed the furrowing of Rachel's brow as the words came out soft and scratchy, her voice inadequately responsive due to disuse. But Rachel's facial features shifted, and Quinn's breath caught in her throat at the look of pure determination on the other girl's face.

_And my mama swore  
She would never let herself forget.  
And that was the day that I promised,  
I'd never sing of love  
If it does not exist…_

A smooth, cooler tone was sneaking its way slowly back into Rachel's voice. The scratchiness was dissipating, and the lyrics were flowing from her lips now. It was almost effortless. Almost.

_But darlin'  
You are the only exception,  
You are the only exception…_

But by the end of the first chorus, it _was _effortless. It was as if the most beautiful transformation ever experienced by anyone in the entire world was taking place in front of Quinn's very eyes. And her eyes were filled with tears at the sight.

_Maybe I know, somewhere,  
Deep in my soul  
That love never lasts.  
And we've got to find other ways  
To make it alone,  
Or keep a straight face._

_And I've always lived like this,  
Keeping a comfortable distance.  
And up until now,  
I had sworn to myself that I'm content  
With loneliness.  
Because none of it was ever worth the risk…_

Quinn had her hand clutched over her mouth to keep whatever cries – of joy or relief or satisfaction or _whatever_ – from echoing through the theatre and breaking Rachel's moment into a thousand tiny pieces. Because Rachel was _definitely_ having a moment. And even from this distance, Quinn could tell that Rachel was happier than she had ever seen her. Her face was bright, and she was smiling as the words fell gracefully from her lips.

_You are the only exception,  
You are the only exception…_

And then Quinn was blown away, because Rachel finally _really_ opened her mouth and _sang._ She sang like she had been imprisoned for almost a decade, her voice locked in some concrete cell where the words couldn't escape. She sang like her _life_ depended on it. She sang, and Quinn _listened_ – because there was no way that the girl onstage could ever say anything that Quinn wouldn't want to hear. And when Rachel sang, Quinn felt like the entire world should stop and appreciate every syllable.

_I've got a tight grip on reality,  
But I can't let go of what's in front of me here.  
I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up,  
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream!_

Quinn's eyes were once again closed as Rachel sang through the final chorus, but she opened them as Rachel sang out the final lines, drinking them in with enthusiasm. She allowed her eyes to trace every feature of Rachel's face, Rachel's hands and arms, Rachel's legs, Rachel's hair falling over her shoulder… Quinn just watched and listened and her heart continued to beat furiously.

_And I'm on my way to believing.  
Oh, and I'm on my way to believing…_

As the last word echoed in the stillness, leaving behind one of the most beautiful silences Quinn had ever heard in her life, she noted the tears that were streaming down Rachel's cheeks. But she also noticed that a brilliant smile was on the girl's lips.

Rachel leaned her forehead down against the top edge of the guitar, and her shoulders shook. Quinn considered stepping forward, the instinctual urge to comfort her taking over Quinn's body momentarily. But then Rachel threw her head back, and Quinn realized that she was laughing, not sobbing.

Quinn wanted to clap or cheer or just pump her fist in the air for what Rachel had just done. Rachel's laughter resounded in the tranquility that her song had left in its wake, and Quinn thought that her laughter was just as beautiful as her singing.

Quinn allowed herself one final all-consuming look at the girl onstage before turning quietly and exiting the theatre, giving Rachel a few final moments alone, even if she hadn't realized that Quinn was there in the first place.

As she stepped out into the chill night air, Quinn decided that her coat could wait for another day. She suddenly wasn't cold anymore.

* * *

_A/N: I had no idea Rachel would be speaking or singing in this chapter. It just kind of happened. I know it's a big moment, so I hope it was enjoyable to read._


	10. Chapter 10

**The Silence of Silence**

Rachel's alarm clock began to beep. Her hand snaked its way out of the covers, tapping the snooze button. She blinked into the early morning sunlight that had already begun to peek through the curtains in her room.

And suddenly, the strangest thoughts of her alarm clock came unbidden to her mind. Had the beeping of the clock been a constant, daily reminder to Shelby that her daughter could hear but still chose not to speak, had chosen to communicate only through sign language instead? Had it been a reminder that Rachel lived under Shelby's roof day in and day out for over eight years without really saying a single word to her?

The guilt rose in the form of a painful lump in her throat, and Rachel tried to swallow it down along with the tears that had swelled up in her eyes. How selfish had she been? Had Shelby ever cried herself to sleep, as Rachel had, only to wake in the morning with puffy eyes and a guilty conscience? Rachel still believed that her fathers were dead because she had, in her childhood, felt the incessant need to sing or talk or engage in some form of communication at all times – so when they were gone and dead and buried, she had decided to stop talking, period. Because that was the only way to keep from hurting those around her, it was the only _real_ atonement for her sins that she could give her parents.

Rachel was almost disgusted with herself because she didn't ask for the smile that covered her face next. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with a pillow. Because yes, she still felt guilty about losing her dads – but she had just allowed herself to remember how _amazing _it had been to sing on that stage the night before. The stage was small. The acoustics were far from ideal. Her guitar-playing was mediocre at best.

But Rachel could still _sing_. And Rachel was now pretty damn certain that there wasn't much else she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

Her English class – and her lovely teacher, of course – had been dealing with the search for answers to those kinds of questions… Who am I? Where am I going? What is my place in the world?

Rachel had read all of the assigned reading. She had watched and taken notes when films were involved. And, most importantly, she had completed her Morrie Project – despite how hard it had been to relive her past. But it wasn't until she had started playing that guitar with the sole intent of singing along at some point that she had _known_ that she was lost. Because she was _so _lost. She had no direction, no dreams, no ambitions. But now – perhaps, maybe, by some miracle – Rachel may have rediscovered her long-buried dreams.

For the past several weeks while deliberating whether or not she should speak again – whether or not she was strong enough – Rachel hadn't even allowed herself to consider thoughts of regret. As always, she considered her silence to have been the catalyst that led her to Miss Fabray. And no matter what experiences she had potentially lost between the ages of ten and eighteen because of her silence, she refused to be sad or ashamed or upset in any way because of it. Because now she knew Quinn. Because now… she may just be falling for the other girl despite her silence and despite the distance between them – the distance that, lately, seemed to be shrinking at a rapid pace.

But as Rachel lay in bed and considered what exactly it was she had _done_ to Shelby, she came the closest to true regret that she had possibly ever experienced since she found her Daddy – cold and pale and lifeless in his chair.

So it was with fierce determination that Rachel threw back her covers and planted her feet firmly on the ground. She turned on her iPod – internally wincing again at the possible slap in the face that purchase had been for Shelby – and threw her hair up in a tight ponytail as she headed towards her elliptical. On her way across the room, she stopped at her desk and grabbed a piece of paper from the printer and a marker. She wrote huge block letters across the page before setting the marker back down on her desk. She turned to walk away, but then stopped. She bit her lip, but only hesitated a moment before picking the marker back up and writing out a few final words on the paper.

Rachel taped the paper to the wall in front of her elliptical and stared at it determinedly for the next forty-five minutes as her legs methodically pumped to the upbeat rhythm of her music.

_JUILLIARD_, it read in big, bold letters.

And just beneath the name of the school of Rachel's recently refurbished dreams, she had written, _Show Quinn that it's alright to love me._

* * *

After she showered and got dressed for the day, Rachel slowly made her way down the stairs. The smell of freshly made waffles was wafting up through the stairwell. Normally, the smell would make Rachel happy. She loved waffles. Instead, it made her stomach churn violently. She was nervous for what she had to do. Singing alone in an empty theatre was one thing, but this was different.

Finally entering the kitchen, Rachel moved forward and took a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. Shelby turned as she heard the stool scrape against the kitchen tiles. "Morning, Rach. Waffles?" she asked over her shoulder.

Rachel nodded her head as she placed her hands on the counter, lacing her fingers together and staring down at them. Shelby turned back to the waffle iron in front of her and softly smiled. After only a few more seconds, she lifted the edge of the iron and knew that the waffle was done. She plopped it down on a plate and put it in front of her daughter, grabbing the warmed up syrup from the microwave and sliding that across the island towards Rachel as well.

Shelby had just picked up the batter to make another waffle when she heard the clearing of a throat and a softly spoken, "Thank you." She nearly dropped the bowl. Luckily, she had the presence of mind to simply set it off to the side.

Rachel watched as Shelby bowed her head, both of her hands palm down on the countertop. Rachel held her breath, waiting for the inevitable backlash or uproar or _whatever_ was coming. She had spoken. Rachel had spoken to Shelby for the first time _ever_, and it felt like a huge, terrifying pressure was still sitting on her chest, refusing to let her breathe properly.

"Shelby?" Rachel questioned quietly. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, managed to carry across the few spare feet between them. Rachel wanted to reach out to her. She wanted to touch the older woman's shoulder and turn her around and see the emotions in her eyes. No matter what Rachel would see in her mother's eyes, she just had to _see_. She had to _know_.

Rachel was more scared of rejection in that moment than she had ever been in her life. Waiting for Shelby's reaction – here, in the safety and comfort of the house they had shared for nearly a decade – was almost more terrifying than the night previous when she opened her mouth, entirely unsure as to whether or not she even possessed the capability of speech anymore.

Shelby finally turned around, and her eyes immediately sought Rachel's out. Rachel's heart fell at the sight of tears swimming in her mother's eyes, the wet streaks of tear tracks that had already formed on her cheeks…

But then Rachel was nearly knocked out of her seat when Shelby was suddenly right next to her – embracing her and _loving her _and crying tears of joy and relief and maybe even something else that Rachel couldn't quite understand. In her surprise, Rachel hesitated momentarily in reciprocating the gesture. So when she regained her senses, Rachel wrapped her arms around her mom's waist and squeezed their bodies tightly together. Their tears mingled and their breaths were little more than ragged sobs as Rachel quietly whispered '_thank you, thank you' _and _'I'm sorry'_ over and over and all Shelby could bring herself to say in return was, '_You don't have anything to be sorry for, baby girl_'.

* * *

Quinn had been more than a little disappointed when Caleb had informed her he wouldn't be able to make it home for the Christmas holidays this year. She had smiled while signing back, telling him that it was alright and that she hoped things settled down at work soon. They had said their '_I love you_'s before signing off.

It had taken quite a large portion of Quinn's will power not to stand from her desk and bodily throw herself onto her bed with a huff of frustration and sadness. But Quinn's will power had admittedly been getting a workout recently. So she simply closed her laptop, walked over to her bed, and threw herself onto it with a _mild _huff of frustration.

And then Quinn cried. Because it was going to be the first Christmas ever where she would be alone.

Sure, her parents lived relatively close by. She could see them if she wanted. But Quinn hadn't purposefully sought out her parents' company since she had graduated high school. Her father would just turn his nose up at her and her _sexual preference_ while her mother would meekly mix drinks in the corner and attempt to steer the conversation in _any _direction whatsoever – anything to distract from the terribly awkward and uncomfortable silence.

For the last five years, the Fabray children had cultivated something of a tradition. Caleb would spend the first half of his Christmas vacation with Quinn, and the last half at home – mostly to appease their mother. The siblings would wake up early on Christmas morning and open each others' gifts and watch _A Christmas Story_ at least once. It was their once a year opportunity to pig out on things they probably shouldn't be eating, to gossip about school and work, and to generally update each other on the random goings-on of their lives.

So yes, Quinn had cried when she found out Caleb wouldn't be coming to visit her this year. Especially with all the inner turmoil she was facing, Quinn had been looking forward to a calm, loving, familial face to help keep her grounded.

But that was several weeks ago. Christmas had come and gone a couple of days previous. Will had courteously invited Quinn for Christmas dinner with his family, but Quinn had declined. Emma was also going to be there, and Quinn would have been the literal fifth-wheel. And there was something incredibly awkward about that entire hypothetical situation anyway…

Lima was experiencing a record-breaking high temperature for this particular day of the year – though that only translated to somewhere in the upper forties – so Quinn decided to go for a run.

As she laced up her running shoes, she contemplated exactly where she would run today. Then, out of nowhere, Quinn remembered her coat that she had left in the theatre. It wouldn't be too awkward to run back with, so as Quinn descended the steps from her apartment and set off at a respectable pace, she decided that she would go and retrieve it.

The play's run had ended the previous evening, and Will had come home to find Quinn sitting on the couch with her glasses and a sweatshirt and a novel. He had plopped down in the armchair across the room with a ridiculously pleased smile on his face before going on and on about how it had been their best show yet. Apparently the rights to the next show had already been purchased, and the director was insisting that Will audition for the male lead. Quinn was happy for him.

By the time Quinn arrived at the theatre, there were a few trucks and cars parked backstage. It seemed that people were already breaking down the sets and restoring the stage to its previously bare self in preparation for the next round of shows. Quinn slowed her pace to a brisk walk as she rounded the building and approached the front entrance. Sandy was coming out of the front door as Quinn walked up, so she held the door open for him as he instructed the kid behind him – who was carrying a set piece twice his size and hadn't the slightest idea where he was walking – to his car.

Quinn laughed as she entered the building. One of the ladies in charge of selling tickets directed Quinn to the office where Quinn's coat had been safely stored for her. Thanking her profusely – it had been a slightly expensive purchase – Quinn held it in her hand as she entered the main theatre area. She wanted to see what progress they were making on everything, perhaps find out if they needed any help.

Part of her just wanted to see if maybe Rachel was there. It had been a full week since that night where Quinn had witnessed her performance onstage, and she had quickly realized that anytime longer than a weekend was simply too long to go without seeing the other girl. Especially now that Rachel had begun utilizing her vocal cords again. Quinn was more anxious than she was willing to admit to hear Rachel really speak for the first time.

It soon became apparent that the stagehands and volunteers had made quick work of the set – the stage was entirely back to its original, pristine condition. A group of people was standing in the middle of the stage, conversing and laughing together as they probably celebrated the successful conclusion of the show. Quinn stood behind the partial wall at the back of the theatre as she had the week previous, resting her elbows on the wall and dropping her chin to her arm. A smile involuntarily spread across her face, crinkling her eyes, as she took in the sight and sounds of Rachel Berry laughing. It seemed to resound off the ceiling and reverberate through the space straight to Quinn's eardrums.

It was lovely, and Quinn was – once again, eternally, unbearably, _delightfully_ – in trouble as she realized that there wasn't much more she wanted in life than to make that beautiful girl smile and laugh just like that.

A blush blossomed on her cheeks as Rachel suddenly looked up at her. The lights were on, and Quinn was an easy target to spot. Rachel waved happily, and Quinn returned the gesture almost bashfully. Someone asked Rachel a question, and the girl turned to answer them. Quinn took this as her cue to escape.

She headed to the theatre's restroom. Once positioned in front of the sink, Quinn placed her jacket on the countertop and splashed a few handfuls of cold water on her face. She tucked a few loose strands of slightly sweaty blonde hair behind her ears. Heavily resting her elbows on the surface, Quinn leaned down and muttered, "Keep it together, Fabray." Her heart was pounding painfully – a common occurrence around Rachel – and her breathing was anything but steady and even.

Before Quinn could so much as stand upright, the door to the bathroom opened. Quinn looked up in the mirror and came face to face with none other than Rachel, of course.

"Hi," Quinn whispered. As had happened on occasion before, the word simply left her lips before she could even stop herself or change her tone – it would have been nice, after all, to not sound so _needy_ when she said hello to the other girl.

Rachel just smiled in return, moving to stand in front of the mirror as well. A couple of sinks' worth of distance separated them, and Quinn was thankful for that. As soon as Rachel had walked in, Quinn had become almost painfully aware of the girl's short shorts and skin tight, long sleeve shirt. Distance was good at this point. Distance was very good.

Quinn had come to appreciate silence more than ever before in her life these past few months, and a huge part of that was thanks to the girl who was staring at the side of her face right now. But there was something almost unnerving about this silence. It held the promise of something larger than life, and something about that scared Quinn senseless. There were some things Quinn just wasn't ready to come to terms with yet. So she steered the conversation in what she hoped was a safe direction.

"So I saw that the sets all seem to be taken care of," she said. It wasn't really a question. But it wasn't really a statement either. Quinn was sure that Rachel saw it for what it really was – a painful filler for the silence. Quinn continued to stare at Rachel in the mirror, but she only saw Rachel's profile as Rachel's eyes were locked on the side of Quinn's own profile in the flesh. She saw Rachel nod. "Will mentioned that they're going to be casting for the next production soon."

Rachel nodded again, and Quinn was momentarily convinced that she was going to speak – her lips tilted upwards into the tiniest of grins and her eyes lit up. "I heard you laughing," Quinn suddenly said. Again, the words had left her lips before Quinn was really able to stop herself. But she wanted Rachel to know that she knew the other girl was speaking now. For once, she didn't mind that the neediness was coating her words – she wanted Rachel to know that she _needed_ to hear her speak. "Do you think you'll audition?"

The shorter girl suddenly looked down at her shoes, and Quinn could see that her teeth were working the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry," Quinn suddenly said, turning to face Rachel head on. "I didn't mean to imply anything… I mean, it's your decision, obviously. And I guess that just because I heard you laughing, that doesn't mean that you're speaking or… or anything…" Quinn trailed off lamely, but it was the best she could manage. Because Rachel had looked up again, and her eyes were penetrating Quinn's and she had taken a step forward.

Because Rachel was suddenly so close that Quinn couldn't see anything other than Rachel's chocolate eyes. Quinn couldn't hear anything other than the faintest of breaths coming from the other girl and her own pounding heartbeat in her ears. Quinn couldn't smell anything other than whatever perfume it was that Rachel was wearing. And Quinn sure as hell couldn't form a single coherent thought other than the girl's name…

"Rachel," Quinn said. It was almost inaudible, but there was no way Rachel hadn't heard. She was suddenly standing right in front of Quinn, and Quinn's back was pressed up against the bathroom's countertop. There were maybe twelve inches of space between their bodies, and Quinn's mind suddenly flashed back to opening night – Rachel's foot against her leg, skin against skin. To stop herself from doing something she really shouldn't do, Quinn wrapped her arms around her back, grasping the lip of the sink with her fingertips.

But Rachel was stepping closer, and Quinn didn't understand anything anymore. She didn't know what was right or wrong – but she also didn't know what was up or down, left or right, forwards or backwards. Everything was skewed, tilted, slipping away from her. It had always been dangerous, but now they had reached a whole new and intense level of peril.

When Rachel shuffled even closer – when their bodies were finally touching and Quinn couldn't find it within her to just _breathe_ and Rachel's eyes were blinking up at her through thick, beautiful eyelashes and Quinn was losing, losing, _losing_ – she finally knew that she couldn't just change the subject anymore. Some things needed to be put out in the open. Quinn was afraid that she would burst into a million pieces if she didn't say what needed to be said – and if she didn't say it _now_.

"Rachel, I need you to know –" But her words were cut off as Rachel brought her finger up in front of her own mouth. The treacherously soft-looking skin of Rachel's lips pressed into her slender finger, and Quinn shuddered as she remembered the Rachel from her dreams performing a similar action. Quinn's body was betraying her in the other girl's presence because she was certain that Rachel had felt the shiver pass from her head to her toes. They were _that_ close and Quinn was struggling _that _much to maintain some sort of control over the situation.

Rachel slowly lowered her finger from her lips, but Quinn remained silent. Not for the first time in the few minutes they had been in the bathroom together was Quinn questioning whether or not this was all really happening. The shorter girl's hands seemed to slowly drift through the space between them until they were resting just on either side of Quinn's hips against the counter. But Quinn could most definitely feel Rachel's wrists against the thin material of the shirt she ran in, and she could most definitely see every fleck of color in Rachel's eyes, and she could most definitely see every glistening drop of moisture on Rachel's lips as the girl leaned forward.

Quinn struggled to keep her eyelids from fluttering shut. Her strenuously trained will power was put fully to the test as Rachel's lips were suddenly right in front of her own. Rachel's body was _right there_, pressing into Quinn's front ever so slightly. The painfully delicious sensation of _want_ coupled with _restraint_ was threatening to tear Quinn apart at the seams.

Rachel's lips parted slightly, and she finally whispered, "…_Not yet_." The words flew from her lips to Quinn's, and if it were not for Rachel's body in such close vicinity, Quinn was sure she would have fallen then and there, her knees buckling at the other girl's words and what they implied. Rachel reached up and gently – almost imperceptibly – cupped Quinn's cheek, lightly stroking the skin underneath her thumb before stepping away.

And when Rachel was gone and Quinn was alone yet again, her body fell completely limp against the sinks and she wondered which one of them had _really_ been the recipient of Rachel's words. Quinn knew they applied to _her_, but she couldn't help but hope against all hope that Rachel meant them for _herself_ as well.

**_Not yet_** implied _**someday**. _And Quinn could live with that.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for all the thoughts concerning the story so far! I just wanted to again send out a special thanks to the anonymous reviewers (since I can't reply to you specifically) and those of you who have private messages turned off. Every review is so appreciated, and I really am grateful for the response this story has been receiving. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: For people who don't like the Quinntana in this fic, all I can say is… That's your loss. I think they're adorable and lovely and would have made hot lovers when they were in high school. So power through this chapter, because there's plenty o'Quinntana!Friendship ahead!_

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn's feet were once again pounding on the pavement like a metronome. Her eyes were focused a few feet ahead of her, but she wasn't really seeing. Her thoughts beat in time with her steps.

Rachel.  
Rachel  
Touching  
Me.  
Rachel.  
Rachel's  
Lips,  
So  
Close.  
Rachel.  
Breathe,  
Quinn,  
Breathe.  
Rachel…

She almost passed by the apartment complex but caught herself before she made it to the next block. By the time she made it up to her bedroom, all she wanted to do was take a shower. And all she wanted to do after that was fall down on her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and _wish _and _hope_ that things could be easier. But there hadn't ever really been a point in Quinn's life when things were _easy_. So she should be used to it by now, right?

Right. But this was an entirely new – dangerous, terrifying – experience of _not easy_. This wasn't the kind of _not easy _where you're strapped to some guy's chest about to throw yourself out of a plane or the kind of _not easy_ where a bungee cord was attached to your ankles as you began to teeter over the edge of some vast canyon. This was the kind of _not easy_ where Quinn was potentially jeopardizing not only her own future, but _Rachel's _as well_._

And it only took hearing Rachel sing one time for Quinn to know that she would never do anything to jeopardize the girl's dreams.

The water pounded against the muscles of her back, tense from her tight, rigid posture over the past hour or so. It was like she was coiled up too tightly, ready to burst into nothingness at a moment's notice. She barely had time to wash her hair as the water was already turning cold. She hadn't realized how long she had been standing under its steady stream.

With her towel wrapped tightly around her chest, Quinn walked from the bathroom to her bedroom. It was cold as she dropped her only cover to the ground once the door was closed. It pooled around her feet, and she stepped over it and moved unseeingly towards her mirror. And then she just stood some more, staring at her naked reflection. _This is me_, she thought, _and that is all_.

It wasn't long before goosebumps were rising all over her uncovered flesh. It may have been warmer today than usual, but Quinn was still naked and slightly wet, and it was soon apparent that she should get dressed. Instead, however, she simply walked over to her bed, curling up underneath the covers and resting her head on her pillow. The fetal position was comfortable and warm, and Quinn felt herself beginning to drift off as her thoughts continued to swirl tempestuously with visions of Rachel and a guitar and a stage, her voice lifting angelically to the rafters…

Quinn's eyes snapped open before sleep could fully consume her. From her bedside table a few inches from her face, her phone had beeped. She reached her bare arm out from the confines of the covers to look at it. **1 NEW MESSAGE**, it said. So she opened it, and a smile immediately found its way onto her face.

_Hey, Q. I'm in town visiting the 'rents for a while. We're done with most of the crazy holiday business. Will you pretty please meet me for coffee tomorrow? I need a break from the insanity!_

She couldn't help but giggle as she read Santana's text message, quickly typing out a reply.

_I'd love to, Ana. How about tomorrow morning for breakfast? The little coffee shop down on 3__rd__ and Main. I'll see you around 8am._

Quinn's fingers suddenly hesitated. And then she typed out one last sentence before hitting send.

_We have a lot to talk about._

Because Quinn _really_ needed someone to talk to. She missed her brother. She missed Santana. Quinn was finally out there living and doing what she had always wanted to do, but she had never felt so _alone_ before. And with this heavy Rachel _thing_ screwing with her head, she really just needed someone she could trust, someone she could talk to without having to worry about holding back.

Quinn needed the best friend she hadn't had since high school.

Later that night, Quinn fell into bed with a book propped on her knees. She reached for her glasses, perching them on her nose as she began reading. A couple chapters in, she became distracted as she wondered what she should wear to breakfast in the morning…

"Dammit!" she suddenly exclaimed, partially from the revelation and partially from exasperation. "I left my coat in the bathroom," she distractedly muttered to herself. _Oh well,_ she thought as she replaced her glasses and book on her nightstand and turned off the light, falling down into her blankets and finally allowing her body and mind to rest.

Even though her mind was really just running circles around the same slippery thoughts it had been for the past few months.

_Rachel…_ Quinn's last thought floated through her mind as she exhaled, and then she was sleeping and dreaming and all was right in the world.

* * *

Unknowingly – and only a couple of neighborhoods away – Rachel was having a similar experience to Quinn's. She laid her head back against her pillow, setting her alarm for the next morning and choosing a song that would help her wake up positively. Her mind drifted to the piece of paper on the wall in front of her elliptical. Rachel knew she had a lot of planning to do in order to make her dreams come true, but she was ready and willing and excited – she possessed the optimism of a young woman who hadn't failed in a long time, simply because she hadn't _tried_ in a long time.

_Juilliard, _she thought. _Quinn, _she thought. And with a smile on her lips and determination coursing through every fiber of her being, Rachel fell asleep as well. And in her dreams, all of her wishes came true.

* * *

Quinn walked the few blocks down to the coffee shop in the morning. She arrived early with her scarf around her neck and a (different) coat wrapped around her, keeping her warm. Taking a seat at a mostly secluded table in the back with a hot chocolate, she took out her book and began to read. She had arrived early, but she was excited to finally see and spend some quality time with Santana.

At a quarter to eight o'clock, the bell above the door jingled, and Quinn looked over the top of her glasses to spot a thoroughly bundled up Santana making her way to the counter. It was a lot colder than the day previous. Damn Ohio weather…

Santana spotted Quinn looking at her after she had placed her order, and she smiled and winked in Quinn's direction before accepting her perfectly made – and scalding – latte from the barista.

Walking over, Santana sat her cup on the table and pointed at it excitedly. "Look!" she exclaimed. "They made a monkey in the foam!" She was shrugging out of her coat, and she had a ridiculously contagious smile on her face.

Quinn chuckled as she stood up and embraced the other girl, relishing the moments of contact before breaking away. With her hands on Santana's shoulders, Quinn said, "It's good to see you again."

"Oh come on, Quinn," Santana said as she took a seat and wrapped her hands around the warm cup of her latte. "Don't get all sappy on me."

"We both know I was always the one more easily moved to displays of emotion," Quinn easily said, taking a sip of her drink and removing her glasses.

"You should keep the glasses on," Santana said. "They make you look all smart and sexy."

She wiggled her eyebrows, and Quinn rolled her eyes. "Such a charmer, you are, Lopez."

"So speaking of being a charmer," Santana muttered, "I have a serious problem, Q." Quinn furrowed her eyebrows. Santana had always known when to act seriously and when to be the life of the party. This Santana sitting in front of her now was quite deadly serious, so Quinn perked up in her seat and nodded her head for Santana to continue. "Quinn, I…" She was clearly struggling to say what she needed to say, so Quinn reached her hand forward and covered one of Santana's, gently reassuring her. Santana took a deep breath and jumped off the metaphorical cliff of the conversation. "Quinn, I think I've lost my game!"

Quinn's eyebrow immediately rose. "Your…game? Explain."

"Yes," Santana sighed. "My 'game'. My innate ability to woo the ladies. I think it's _gone_."

And she said the last word with such devastation and certainty, Quinn had to bite the inside of her cheek roughly to keep from laughing out loud. "Santana, I highly doubt that such a thing is possible. Why do you think that?"

"Well, we all know that I'm awesome," Santana said and Quinn playfully nodded her head in acquiescence so the other woman would continue. "I mean, all I had to do was compliment you on your shoes and you were practically jumping my bones in high school."

Quinn's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "That's absolutely absurd! I didn't _jump your bones_ because you complimented my shoes." Santana arched her eyebrow dangerously high and Quinn sighed. "I mean, I may have jumped your bones because you complimented my shoes, _but there were a lot of other factors, too!_" She rushed the last words out, but it didn't change the fact that Santana was already laughing maniacally nor did it mean that Quinn hadn't just perfectly proven Santana's point. "Fine," Quinn rolled her eyes – again. "You had game. But what makes you think you've lost it now?"

Santana quickly stopped laughing, all manner of seriousness falling over her features like a veil. "Her name," she began, "is Brittany Pierce. And I am madly in love with her."

"That's great, Santana!" Quinn said, genuinely happy for her overly-dramatic friend that she had finally fallen in love again. But the distraught look on Santana's face was seriously bringing the whole situation down. "What exactly is the problem then?"

"I… I can't talk to her!" Santana said, throwing one hand up in the air in a dramatic display of annoyance. "She walks by, all kinds of cute in her little P.E. teacher outfit with jump ropes and kickballs and she'll say, '_Hi Santana!'_ and all I can ever manage to do is _wave_ and look like a complete _idiot!_ I'm in love, Quinn, and this shit is _insane._"

Quinn and Santana had been together for most of high school. They had split up amicably – with a kiss to the lips and the pressing together of foreheads – the night before Santana moved to Purdue for college. Quinn left a week later for Ohio State. They had kept in touch those first few months. Maybe even a whole school year. Santana often recounted her one-night stands and Quinn could read between the lines to find the occasional implications of a legitimate girlfriend, but Santana had never really been _serious_ that year.

They had become more than just lovers during their time together – they had become best friends. So Quinn hadn't really liked to see Santana spreading herself around so easily. It had been painful in that _my-first-love-is-kind-of-a-ho-now _way, but Quinn had remained that kind ear for Santana to confide in, and Santana had, of course, been the same for Quinn. But after that first year, the phone calls tapered off. The emails completely subsided. And then and only then had Quinn realized that they were slipping out of each others' lives entirely.

"I don't want to be that girl from college," Santana said softly, the frustration almost entirely leaving her voice as calmness replaced it. "I want to be the kind of girl that someone feels proud to say, '_Yeah, that girl? She's mine.' _And I kind of _really _want the girl saying it to be Brittany." Quinn smiled knowingly in her direction. Santana noticed and rolled her own eyes for once. "At least for a little while," she mumbled, trying to maintain some of her haughtiness.

But it was too late, and Quinn knew her too well – even after all of the years that had slipped by between them. "Santana, you're a beautiful girl with an incredible mind and heart. You possess the ability to be kind and sweet and so genuine that you'll probably make her head spin from sheer happiness. That alone should give you the confidence to _at least_ say hi back to the girl."

Santana leaned back in her chair, carefully bringing her latte to her lips and taking a long sip. She licked the residual foam from her lips as she placed the cup back down on the table. Leaning forward on her elbows, she said, "You're right, Quinn." She smiled at her past-friend, past-lover, past-confidant and anchor. "Santana Lopez is one badass who is fully prepared to woo and subsequently sweep one Brittany Pierce right off of her cute little feet."

The girls shared smiles and laughter and sips of hot drinks, and it suddenly felt like they were kids again – peaceful and content to let whatever moment they found themselves in play out like a record in its simplicity.

The jingle from the bell at the front of the store drew Quinn's eyes from her friend sitting across from her. And she was momentarily – completely and utterly – distracted by the form of a bundled up Rachel Berry walking up to the counter, removing her gloves from her hands as she went.

Santana quickly noticed that her companion's attention had been diverted, so she followed Quinn's gaze to the brunette across the shop. With a devious smirk on her face, she turned back to Quinn and said, "Ahh, yes. You _did _say that we had a lot to talk about, didn't you, Q?"

Quinn blushed as she lowered her head, turning back to Santana. The conversation she knew they were about to have would be anything but boring and comfortable. And as they began to talk – in hushed tones with their heads bowed towards each other – Quinn allowed the soft, indecipherable tones of Rachel placing her order across the store to wash over her.

* * *

As Rachel waited for her cappuccino, she couldn't help but notice the women sitting in the corner of the establishment. They were clearly in deep conversation, but Rachel caught Quinn's eye once. The older woman immediately ducked her head, but the smile and the blush that spread across her cheeks had already made Rachel's morning substantially better.

Receiving her drink – with an ironically appropriate heart drawn in the froth – Rachel made her way over to one of the two computers that was available for public use. She opened up an internet browser and typed in her first search term.

_Juilliard_

Rachel had needed to get out of the house. Even with the preparations for the play, the actual run of the show, and holiday festivities, Rachel had found herself spending _far _too much time cooped up at home. She just needed to get out, and this was her favorite place to go to get away, to think. And Rachel had a lot of thinking to do.

As Juilliard's home page came up on her screen, Rachel felt an odd sense of excitement. It was akin to what she had felt sitting on that stage a few nights before, strumming the strings of the guitar and belting out that final verse. A part of Rachel had never given up on her Broadway Dream, convincing Shelby to let her take dance lessons. A part of her relished those moments on stage – when she could feel beautiful and graceful and complete without words or speech or song. A part of her was reawakened when she finally sang again – a part of her that wanted to dance _and _sing _and _act. Rachel wasn't sure if she still had the opportunity to be a Star like she had always wanted to be growing up – watching Barbra and Liza and Patti and Angela and Bernadette. But a part of Rachel now knew – fiercely and without a moment's hesitation longer – that she was going to do everything she could to try and make that dream become reality.

The time passed quickly as Rachel compiled the information she needed. She was, it appeared, just in time to apply. But she would have to work hard to get everything to the school in time for her application to be considered. She needed transcripts and letters of recommendation and a pre-screening recording of herself and an essay…

Rachel knew that with practice and perseverance, her recording could be great. But it was the essay, she knew, that would help her to stand out even more. Because she looked at the prompts, and she just knew _exactly_ what to say. It was practically writing itself in her head.

Suddenly, the most stunning sound of genuine laughter drifted through the coffee shop to Rachel's ears. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as her other goal – never forgotten, always _so _close to the surface – presented itself again in her mind. And before Rachel could stop herself, she was typing in a second search term.

_Deaf schools in New York City_

Because in Rachel's dream the night before, she had been a star. But there had been a proud, beautiful blonde sitting in the audience with a graceful smile and shining eyes, and Rachel was no longer uncertain as to whether or not Quinn belonged there.

A while later, Rachel finally closed the browser, sipped up the last of her cappuccino, and made her way to the exit. She paused at the door, refastening the clasps of her coat and slipping her gloves back on. Rachel took a moment – but just a moment – to turn her shoulders in Quinn's direction. She caught the other woman's gaze and waved with a kind smile on her face before heading out into the cold to walk home, thoughts of _Juilliard _and _Quinn_ and her _future _floating easily through her mind.

The essay prompt resurfaced and made its way to the front of her thoughts, and Rachel knew she needed to get in front of her computer at home to write.

_Describe the most challenging obstacle you have had to overcome. Discuss its impact, and tell us what you have learned from the experience…_

* * *

"You're still in town for a few more days, yeah?" Quinn asked as they finally stood and prepared to go their separate ways.

"Yeah, just until Thursday. Then I'm heading back to Carmel to get ready for school on Monday."

"…And?" Quinn prodded teasingly as they slipped their coats on.

"_And_," Santana mimicked, "I'm going to ask Brittany on a date as soon as I see her."

"Good girl," Quinn said, playfully patting the other girl on the head.

Santana brushed her off, but immediately pulled her into a tight hug. Her fingers splayed against the material of Quinn's shirt underneath the girl's coat. "Quinn," she breathed out against the other girl's neck, "I've missed you so much."

Quinn began to tear up – something she had thus far successfully avoided. "Ana," she quietly whispered as thoughts of high school and young love and touches and kisses and _memories_ suddenly assaulted her. "I've missed you too, more than I think I realized before." Her voice shuddered involuntarily as her emotions caught up to her. "Thank you. For everything."

Santana pulled back slightly, and leant her head forward. Quinn reciprocated, bending her head down to press their foreheads gently together. "Quinn, please be careful." Santana's words were quiet and intense and Quinn was listening closely, as she had throughout their entire discussion earlier. "It's like that one dude said, '_You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you_'. Just make sure you know which is which, ok?"

Quinn sat in the passenger seat of Santana's car as the girl drove her home. Their hands met over the center console, clasped together and drawing strength from each other. Quinn knew now that she had to be brave enough to see exactly what cards the universe was laying out for her.

Santana pulled up to the building and Quinn leaned over, placing a lingering kiss on Santana's cheek. "Thanks," Quinn said. She paused as she pulled away and tilted her head back and forth. "Again," she added.

With a wink, Santana replied, "We're both in love, Q, and there's something really shitty about that. But it's also completely, totally, _absurdly_ awesome."

They said their goodbyes and promised to call and text and meet up again and all of that other stuff that people always promise. Quinn turned and fiddled in her coat pocket for her key. She finally looked up as she was approaching the steps, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight in front of her.

"Caleb!" she exclaimed before rushing forward. Her brother was sitting on the steps, and he jumped up as she got closer, pressing forward and collecting her in one of the greatest hugs she had received in a long time. "Oh my god," she kept muttering under her breath. She was crying and laughing simultaneously, and so was he. He couldn't hear their shared laughter, but he could feel it. And as Quinn finally regained enough composure to show him inside and up to her apartment, she realized that her day had been amazing. And, as usual, Santana had been right – things were kind of completely, totally, _absurdly _awesome right now.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn was lying on her chest on her bed. Her bare feet were up in the air and her chin was perched on her crossed arms. Caleb was sitting a few feet away from her in the chair by her desk. He was wearing a red button up shirt, dark jeans, and his wavy blonde hair was substantially longer than the last time Quinn had seen him. He never styled it, always choosing instead to messily run his fingers through it when it got in his face. But the look suited him.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, each content to merely bask in the presence of the other. Quinn's head was still reeling from the unexpected presence of her little brother. She knew his break from school was over in only a few days, so she was both excited that he was here in her bedroom and sad that it probably wouldn't be for very long.

Finally, Quinn pushed herself up off of her stomach, leaning back against her pillows with her ankles crossed in front of her. "I can't believe you're here." She signed the words but also spoke them. She heard the tears in her voice before they made themselves known against her cheeks.

Caleb was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He smiled, and Quinn felt it was something like looking in a mirror. When they were younger, everyone had always commented on how similar their facial features were, how alike their smiles seemed to be. Caleb could have taken it personally, annoyed by the fact that people compared him so closely to his sister. Instead, he would always say something along the lines of _Well, she's just lucky that she inherited the same good looks I did_.

_Quinn_, he eventually signed, _don't cry._

But when he said the words to her, she just lost it even more. Her baby brother was suddenly right next to her again, holding her in his arms. He kissed her temple and hummed against her skin, and Quinn felt safe. _I just missed you so much, _she signed. She didn't speak. It was one of those moments where her voice just wasn't stable enough to handle it.

_I missed you too, big sis,_ he signed as he kicked off his shoes and sat down in front of her with his legs sticking out parallel next to hers.

Quinn allowed half a minute to go by before she spoke again. "Ok, enough of being sad. Tell me how you're here! I wasn't expecting to see you until spring break or something."

_I just put my foot down with the boss! Sue runs a tight operation, but I'm not a slave or whatever. So I told her I was going home for a few days to see my family, and that when I get back, I'll be her best employee again._ He smiled and leaned back on his elbows.

"I see," Quinn said while nodding her head and looking impressed with her brother's show of initiative. "And what about _Tina_," she bobbed her head with a bit of attitude on her brother's love interest's name. "Won't she miss you while you're gone?" She smiled brightly to show Caleb that she was kidding but that she was also interested to know more about the girl he was always telling her about.

He sighed and said, "Quinn!" out loud as he rolled off the bed. But Quinn's smile didn't falter because she heard the same smile in Caleb's voice. He began walking around her bed, excitedly gesturing the whole time. _All teasing aside, I think I'm in love!_

Quinn mouthed the words '_in love_' back at him, and he just vigorously nodded his head in confirmation, still pacing the floor.

_In love, Quinn. I love her. She's beautiful and talented. She has the best eye for art, and she sings like a goddess!_ Here, Caleb looked over and saw Quinn's raised eyebrows. _So I've been told_, he added for confirmation with a smirk on his lips. _She likes me back_. He signed the words and then stood with his arms crossed in front of him, one hand coming up to rest on his chin.

"That's great, Caleb. I'm so happy for you! Have you told her that you're crazy in love with her yet?" Quinn picked up a pillow and held it against her chest. Something inside of her melted a little bit at the thought of love. Her brother was in love, and so was she. She knew that for a fact now. It was something that she had slowly been coming to terms with for months – fighting against, struggling with, but finally accepting. And Quinn was excited for the future again – because Rachel's behavior indicated that she may feel the same way, no matter how delicate the entire situation was. So Quinn had hope that things would work out.

"Hey," Caleb again spoke out loud, and Quinn's eyes focused once more on the here and the now. _Where'd you go? _he questioned.

"Sorry," Quinn replied. Her hands moved quickly, trying to dissipate whatever questions she could already see forming on her brother's face. Because _something_ was happening, and she didn't want to deal with it right then. "So tell me about your classes for next semester! Do you have any with Tina?"

_Quinn…_ Caleb signed. _You're not fooling me._

_What do you mean? _Quinn replied, abandoning words and biting her cheek.

_I'm a man in love, and I see it on your face. When were you going to tell me that you're seeing someone? _He was suddenly right in front of her again.

Quinn couldn't help but smile. He was excited for her. Caleb had always been the only person in her family who was _really_ worth talking to. And while Quinn had talked at length with Santana earlier in the day about this very situation, something told her not to go there with Caleb yet. Just, not yet.

"I'm not seeing anyone," she answered. And it was the truth to a certain extent. She wasn't dating. She wasn't in a relationship. But her heart was definitely taken, and she saw Rachel more than she had ever seen anyone before in her life.

_You're telling half-truths,_ Caleb said, crossing his arms and giving her his patented pouty face.

If nothing else, it was good for making Quinn laugh. "Caleb, I promise. I'm not dating anyone." She couldn't bring herself to say, '_There's no one_,' because she knew that was false, and something about it didn't really seem fair to Rachel. But Caleb was giving her _the eye_, and Quinn was worried that he would keep digging. And if he kept digging, she knew he would find things that Quinn wasn't ready for him to find. "If I ever got serious with someone again, don't you know I'd tell you?"

He reached his hand out, and Quinn placed hers inside of it. He had calluses on the pads of his fingers and his palm, but the top of his hand was smooth and soft. They sat and stared at each other for a few minutes, and Quinn knew they were ok. She also knew he was dropping the subject. She breathed a sigh of relief and valiantly attempted to make it not appear to be a Sigh of Relief.

Quinn pulled her hand away to sign, "I met up with Santana earlier today. I haven't seen her in a long time. It was really nice to catch up with her."

Caleb's eyebrows rose. _Was that who dropped you off earlier? That crazy bitch, how is she? What's she doing now?_

And just like that, they had moved on. They easily fell into the familiarity that they shared as siblings. The hours passed, the conversation flowed back and forth between them, and Quinn finally realized just how much she had been missing her brother. It was nice to finally feel less alone.

* * *

Rachel grabbed the rolls out of the oven and brought them over to the table. She sat the hand towel she had used to pick them up to the side. Shelby smiled and handed her the green beans, and Rachel spooned some onto her plate before passing them back. Their meal was spent mostly in silence. Rachel was still getting used to speaking again. Their conversations so far – if you could call them that, really – had been short and to the point. But Shelby always had a smile on her face afterwards, so Rachel felt that every little step was a good one.

"So I did some research today," Rachel said between bites. "On college, and stuff…"

Shelby's eyes immediately snapped up to Rachel's face, but she tried not to look too excited. She turned back to her plate and cut a piece of chicken before popping it in her mouth. She chewed slowly and swallowed before saying, "Oh yeah?" Rachel had never – not once – mentioned plans for college. A week ago, Shelby had been scared for Rachel's future. She didn't want her daughter to end up working sixty hour weeks just to get by, like she had done for the past fifteen years. But with no real _plans_ – as far as Shelby knew – that was what it had looked like. So talk of college? Shelby's interest was more than a little peaked.

"Yeah ummm… Well, I've actually decided to apply to Juilliard." Rachel's voice was anything but steady as the words left her lips. It was one thing to plan it all out. It was an entirely different thing to say it to your mother. Because moms? They always say it like it is. And sometimes, that's really scary.

Shelby maintained a calm outer façade as she placed her fork down on her plate and leaned back in her chair. She looked up and into Rachel's eyes, taking several deep breaths before asking, "Juilliard?"

Rachel nodded. "Yeah, Juilliard. I checked on everything I need to do to apply earlier today. It's… It's not too late." Shelby nodded her head slowly. "I can do this, I know I can."

"I'm sure Juilliard is very competitive." Shelby said the words, but she had also seen home videos of Rachel as a child. She would find them in the VCR. Rachel would sometimes watch them late at night when Shelby was sleeping. She would find Rachel on the couch in the morning, the black and white static on the television screen and a pile of used Kleenexes around her daughter. She would wake Rachel and send her to take a shower before school, and she would sit down and watch the videos herself. Even as a nine-year old, Rachel had been magnificent.

"Last year, they only accepted five percent of their total applicants," Rachel said, nodding her head in acknowledgment of the challenge she knew she faced. "But I sang recently, and it's all I've been able to think about ever since. I dreamed of being on Broadway when I was a little kid, and I suddenly _feel that_ again. It's almost overwhelming, this dream that I had once upon a time… But it's been reawakened or something, and there's nothing else I want to do."

Shelby placed her hand on her chin as she leaned her elbows on the edge of the table. "Ok," she finally said, and the word felt freeing as it crossed her lips – for both mother _and _daughter.

"Ok?" Rachel questioned, a smile immediately blossoming across her face. It was almost too good to be true. "Are you sure? I mean… New York City is a long way away. It's one hundred dollars just for the application. And when I inevitably get asked to come for an audition, that'll be expensive as well..." She trailed off, and her smile faltered. She knew how hard Shelby worked to provide for them both.

Shelby waved her hand. "Rachel, do you remember when I talked to you a couple of years ago about the money your dads left for you in trust?" Rachel nodded. "It's not the biggest amount of money or anything, but it's substantial. I left it alone because I wanted you to have something to, you know, start your own life with. Money for college or a down payment on a house or a car or something. But if you're serious about applying to Juilliard, I'd say that there's really no better time than the present to think about using part of the money to make sure you get there."

Rachel smiled again, and she nodded her head frantically. "That would be so fantastic!" Before she even knew what was happening, she was crying. But they were happy tears. Because things felt right. Looking into her future, Rachel saw things falling into place. Now, she just had to make it all happen in the present.

They cleaned up the dishes and sat down at the kitchen table. Rachel spread all of her application materials out in front of them. They talked for hours – of hopes and dreams and the future, of making Juilliard and New York City a reality. That night, they both fell asleep with smiles on their faces and without tears in their eyes.

* * *

Quinn closed the trunk of the rental car after Caleb tossed his bag in the back. They turned to each other and embraced tightly. He had only been there for two days, but he already felt like a permanent fixture in Quinn's life – something that happened every time they spent time together, but something that never got any easier to deal with when it came time for him to leave.

"I love you, little brother," Quinn muttered against Caleb's neck.

He felt the vibrations of her words against his skin, and he smiled into her hair. "I love you," he said. His words were not spoken perfectly as he had never really taken a lot of time to try perfecting the skill. But they were clear enough, and Quinn would have understood anyway.

She pulled back. "Tell Mom I said hi, ok?"

_What, and not Dad? _Caleb teasingly questioned, a huge smile on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows playfully. Quinn punched his shoulder. "Ow!" he exclaimed. _Fine, fine,_ he signed. _I'll send Mom your love._

"I hope you have a good flight back to D.C. Don't work too hard. Be good to Tina. Go to all of your classes and study, ok?" Quinn listed off her expectations as Caleb walked backwards to the driver's side of the vehicle.

He held up his hands placatingly. _Alright, alright! Yes ma'am, you got it. I'll be a good boy at school._ He winked cheekily at her, and Quinn rushed forward to embrace him one more time around the neck.

She pulled back and their matching hazel eyes locked. "Take care of yourself."

He nodded. _You too._

They didn't say '_bye_', but then, that was never really their thing.

That afternoon as Quinn was tidying up around the apartment, she straightened up suddenly. School was starting back in a couple of days, and she really frigging wanted her coat back! Determinedly making up her mind, Quinn strode into her bedroom. She slipped on a pair of jeans and some shoes before grabbing another coat and heading out the door.

Quinn was going to make it home with that coat once and for all.

* * *

No cars were parked along the street next to the theatre, but Quinn decided to take her chances when she walked up to the front door. She pulled on the handle, and it was undeniably locked. But when Quinn pressed her face to the glass, she could see lights on inside. Someone was definitely there.

Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the cold, she quickly walked around the side of the building. She jogged the last few feet to the backstage entrance, her breath forming a small cloud of condensation in front of her face. The back door was open, and her suspicions that _someone _was there were finally confirmed as she stepped inside.

And when she finally did step inside, Quinn immediately heard the inimitable voice of Rachel Berry. She could count the times she had heard the girl's voice so far on one hand, but she knew that no one _anywhere_ would ever compare. Not for Quinn, at least.

Quinn unbuttoned her coat as she stepped out from backstage. "Hi, Rachel," she said after the other girl had finished the final note of her song. Rachel had reached down to pick up some black device off the stage floor, and she quickly turned around at Quinn's voice.

"Hi," she replied with a surprised smile on her face.

It was one word. It was really just one word, nothing more but nothing less. It probably shouldn't have made Quinn's heart beat faster, and it probably shouldn't have caused the smile that it did. And Quinn probably shouldn't have been so terribly pleased with herself for finally getting a vocal response from Rachel that resembled something along the lines of _normal _conversation. But she was. Quinn's confidence was also bolstered a thousand fold by the fact that Rachel was wearing _her _sweater_, _the one she had loaned to her that night after Sectionals.

"That sounded great," Quinn said. "I mean, I only just walked in and heard the last few bars, but it was great." Rachel smiled and fidgeted with whatever was in her hands. "So," Quinn started again, desperate to extend her time with the other girl. She took a few steps forward. "What are you doing here alone? And what were you singing?" Maybe if she asked enough questions, Quinn could turn Rachel's one-worded greeting into a real conversation.

Quinn had walked down the steps on the side of the stage and had taken a seat front row center. Rachel moved forward and took a seat on the edge of the stage, a little off to the right. "Mr. Ryerson is letting me use this –" she indicated the device in her hand "– to record myself singing. And he let me in so I could use the stage. It's the best place I could think of to do this. The acoustics aren't great, but they're better than my kitchen."

Rachel looked down at her lap and pulled the edges of Quinn's sweater more fully over her shoulders. Quinn chuckled and said, "Yeah, that's understandable. So what are you recording yourself for?" She was practically giddy with the entire situation, and she was working hard to control the emotions in her voice.

"I'm actually applying to college, and I have to send in a recording of my singing voice with the initial application. And I was singing _My Man_ from _Funny Girl_. It's… Well, it's probably the most difficult song I've ever sung." She looked up and caught Quinn's eye. They grinned at each other. "But I want to show… I don't know, everything? Not just my range or my technique, but whatever emotional depth I can find within myself."

Quinn nodded understandingly. "So you've got the song down? Timing and pitch and all that?"

Rachel chuckled. "Yeah, I have perfect pitch. And I've been singing almost non-stop for the past few days trying to get everything just right. This isn't the first song I've tried, but it's definitely the one I'm sticking with. I think Barbra would approve." She stood back up and walked over to a stool that was sitting in the middle of the stage with a stereo on it. She fiddled with it for a few moments before turning back to Quinn. "Do you mind if I do another run through? Mr. Rumba has mentioned before that you have a music degree, and I would love any input you could give me."

It was never really a question of whether or not Quinn would listen. Of course she would. She nodded again. "Sure, I would love to. But it's only a music minor, so don't expect me to be overly helpful."

Rachel smiled, and Quinn could practically feel whatever tension had existed before leaving the room. "Sometimes just having an audience is enough to bring out the best in a performer."

Quinn leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. She watched as Rachel moved forward and placed the digital recording device a few feet from the edge of the stage. While she was near Quinn, Rachel looked up and caught her eye momentarily. She bit her lip, and Quinn squeezed her legs more tightly together.

Still leaning down with one hand on the device, Rachel brought her finger to her lips. Quinn inhaled and exhaled slowly through her nose, wondering if Rachel knew what such a simple gesture was doing to her. Complete and absolute silence filled the air around them, and Rachel pressed the record button. She stood and tiptoed over to the stereo before pressing play. An instrumental track filled the air as Rachel turned and took a couple of steps forward and to the left, forming something of a triangle between herself, the recorder, and the stereo.

As she had the first time she heard Rachel sing, Quinn closed her eyes and held her breath. She waited for Rachel's voice to break over her like a wave, and she wasn't disappointed.

_Oh my man, I love him so.  
He'll never know.  
All my life is just despair,  
But I don't care.  
When he takes me in his arms,  
The world is bright, alright…_

Quinn had to place her hand in front of her lips. Already, she was trying and failing spectacularly to control her emotions. She knew the girl could _sing_, but this was something else entirely. Quinn could literally feel _everything_. It was almost too much for her frayed nerves to handle. The mere _presence_ of the other girl was normally enough to have Quinn on edge for hours afterward, but hearing her sing took things to a completely new level.

_What's the difference if I say  
I'll go away,  
When I know I'll come back on my knees someday?  
For whatever my man is,  
I am his forever more._

The instrumental was building, and Quinn could see it playing out on Rachel's face. It was like every word was true, like Rachel was expressing her innermost desires. Maybe even desires that she was afraid to put into words on her own.

The arrangement was different from the film's – Quinn had seen _Funny Girl _once or twice and recognized that there were at least a couple of verses missing – but it was indescribably powerful when Rachel began to sing the same two verses again.

_Oh my man, I love him so.  
He'll never know!  
All my life is just despair,  
But I don't care!  
When he takes me in his arms,  
The world is bright, alright!_

As she held out the _alright_, Quinn felt every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Her arms were completely covered in goosebumps. Rachel was emulating Barbra perfectly in these moments.

_What's the difference if I say  
I'll go away,  
When I know I'll come back on my knees someday?  
For whatever my man is,  
I am his forever more.  
_

The power and passion in her voice was moving. But Quinn was held in complete awe and adoration more by the tears streaming down the younger girl's face as the track concluded than anything else.

Rachel's shoulders heaved once, twice as she allowed her breathing to even out. Then she flipped the stereo off before it could go on to the next track, and she moved quickly to the front of the stage to stop the recording.

When she had clearly hit stop and was standing fully in front of Quinn, Quinn asked, "You… You got all of that on the recording, right?"

Bringing the device up to her face, Rachel clicked a few buttons before looking back at Quinn. "Yeah, I got it all."

Quinn stood up and gave Rachel the standing ovation she deserved. "That's a wrap."

Rachel ducked her head as a genuine blush covered her cheeks. She reached up to wipe away her tears. "Really?" she questioned.

"Rachel, that was… I don't have words. I don't think there _exist_ words for me to describe how beautiful that was, how much you moved me just now. How do you do it?"

Tilting her head to the side, Rachel asked, "Do what?"

Quinn shook her head. The girl didn't even realize… "The emotion, the passion behind your words. You moved _both of us_ to tears," Quinn said, gesturing to the wetness on her hands as she wiped her own cheeks. "That's _powerful_, Rachel. And beautiful."

"It doesn't hurt that I have someone in mind when I sing this song," Rachel said quietly. Quinn almost missed it. In fact, she was certain she had misheard her entirely. "In fact, if I wasn't so obsessed with maintaining the integrity of the song, I would probably change the pronouns."

Quinn's jaw dropped as the other girl turned on her heel and walked back to the stool onstage. _Did she just insinuate…_

"So you're sure that was the take?"

Quinn hadn't heard any of Rachel's other takes. But she didn't need to. "Yeah," she replied. "I'm sure."

"I'm glad you think so. I felt really good about that one. And I've been singing nonstop for a while now, I need to rest my voice. I'll just text Shelby and let her know I'm done –"

"Where do you live? I could take you home," Quinn offered. _Bite your tongue, Quinn!_ she mentally chastised herself. But the deed was done.

Rachel observed her momentarily before answering. "Just on the east side, close to Lima Heights."

"Oh!" Quinn exclaimed. "Perfect! I live really close to there. Come on, I'll take you. Text your mom if you want to ask her permission though, ok?"

Rachel nodded and gathered up her things, wrapping the stereo's cord securely around itself and tucking it under her arm. They began walking to the back entrance.

"So what schools are you applying to?" Quinn questioned as she shrugged her coat back on and buttoned it up.

"Oh, I'm just applying to one school."

"Yeah?" Quinn asked with her eyebrows raised curiously.

"Yeah," Rachel replied as she stepped through the back door that Quinn was holding open for her. "Juilliard."

With her jaw again reaching for the ground, Quinn stared at the girl walking away from her. "Juilliard?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else since Rachel was already several feet away at that point. "_Damn_."

She tried not to stare at Rachel's sensuously swaying hips as she contemplated this girl who had been an enigma from day one and who _clearly_ wasn't changing anytime soon. _But really_, Quinn thought, _I wouldn't have it any other way. _She followed Rachel to her car, wondering all the while what kind of surprises she could possibly be faced with next._  
_

* * *

_A/N: I've been watching Lea's performance of "My Man" from Glee pretty much all day long (because it was **that** spectacular). So she was obviously going to sing it in this chapter! Couldn't resist. And you know you loved it on the show!  
_


	13. Chapter 13

**The Silence of Silence**

The heater blew a strand of hair into Quinn's face. It tickled briefly against her fair skin before her fingertips deftly reached up, securely tucking it behind her ear. She remained still after that, as unmoving as she could manage between the shifting of the gears in her car. She was thankful for the manual transmission – she was thankful for an easy excuse to keep both of her hands occupied. Being a good driver, Quinn was also provided the safety of looking at the road – and not at the girl in her passenger seat. And yet, every time a light would turn red or a stop sign would present itself, Quinn would involuntarily tilt her head to the right. Only very slightly, and only for a few spare moments.

But without fail, Rachel would tip her chin slightly to the left and smile in Quinn's direction. Quinn would grin shyly in return before turning back to the road. Rachel's smiles were soft and charming. They made Quinn's head feel light and her heart feel happy, as if all was right in the world – or at least in the compact, interior space of her car. And every once in a while, Quinn saw _more_ on Rachel's face – she saw that girl from the bathroom, and she felt the warm press of Rachel's body against hers.

It was all Quinn could do to keep herself from turning her hand over at the next red light, to keep herself from inviting Rachel to touch the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, her palm, her fingertips, to lace their fingers together…

"Are you ready for school on Monday?" Rachel asked after several minutes of the silent car ride had passed between them.

Quinn swallowed tightly against the lump in her throat as she was shaken from her thoughts by the beautiful voice her heart had yearned to hear for so long. "I am," she replied. "I love vacations. Of course, who doesn't? But I look forward to getting back into the swing of things."

In her peripheral vision, she saw Rachel open her mouth to speak her next words – she carefully observed the subtle brushing of a tongue over full lips. Quinn was surprisingly grateful that the tables were now turned from their time in the theatre, with Rachel being the one to continue the conversation of her own volition instead of Quinn digging for it. "I miss it, too." Quinn hadn't explicitly stated the she _missed _it, but it was obviously apparent – and Rachel was right, of course. Quinn missed it. And she very much missed seeing Rachel Berry on a daily basis. "It's going to be strange, saying goodbye to it in a few months. But…" she trailed off momentarily, and Quinn resisted the urge to interrupt, to question. She could practically picture Rachel with her lips pressed tightly together and her hands held at the ready in front of her, prepared to sign the words that seemed too difficult – perhaps too hopeful – to speak aloud. "…I'm more excited for the future than I have been in a really long time."

Quinn smiled over at Rachel in response, and she found herself again having to strongly resist the urge to squeeze Rachel's knee or pat her across the shoulder blades in some semblance of _congratulations_ or…or something.

"Wow," Rachel breathed out across her parted lips. "I can't believe how good that felt to say." Her voice was suddenly sad, and Quinn wanted to fix it.

"Why shouldn't it feel good to admit that you're happy?" Quinn asked, turning her head in Rachel's direction as she paused at a stop sign.

Rachel didn't even waste a full beat before replying, "Guilt."

With her brow furrowed, Quinn opened her mouth to speak, but Rachel quickly cut her off.

"No, it's ok," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "I _am_ happy, I can admit that in spite of the guilt. It's just that I sometimes picture their faces, and the edges are fuzzy… And it only serves to make the guilt even more overwhelming." Suddenly, she snapped her mouth shut, as if she had realized what kind of words had just been falling freely from her lips and needed to stem the flow before she allowed herself to say anything more.

Quinn wanted more than _ever_ to reach out and grasp onto Rachel's hand with her own – holding tight, never letting go. Because she felt Rachel closing herself off, and it was a scary feeling.

"Take a left up here." Quinn nodded, but Rachel was looking out the window and didn't see the gesture. "It's just ahead on the right, the one with the green shutters."

Quinn pulled the car to a stop in front of the house with the green shutters and the empty driveway. Shelby was apparently not at home this weekend afternoon.

As if Rachel had read her thoughts, she said, "She works long hours most days." Her head was bowed and her gaze was directed at her fingers as they fiddled with the hem of Quinn's sweater in her lap.

Nodding her head, Quinn turned slightly in her seat towards Rachel – waiting for the other girl to continue. When she didn't, Quinn spoke instead. "I hope the rest of your weekend is great. And I wish you good luck with the Juilliard application and everything."

Rachel's eyes lit up – a change that Quinn was pleased to see – and she quickly snapped her head in Quinn's direction. "Speaking of that, I've written an admissions essay. Do you think I could have you read it next week and critique it? I need to mail it soon, but I'd love some feedback. And you were so great during the Morrie assignments that you're the first person I think of to ask."

"Sure, Rachel, I'd love to." The words tumbled over Quinn's lips without much thought, if any at all. Quinn realized that most of her actions, behaviors, thoughts, words, gestures when she was in the other girl's presence came about effortlessly, without inhibition or thought of consequences.

It was undoubtedly dangerous.

Quinn's arms were crossed over her chest and the heater was causing her cheeks to flush – or was it Rachel's intense stare? Either way, she ducked her head and opened her mouth to speak, to say goodbye – because that was the appropriate thing to do in such a situation. But again, Rachel was cutting her off. "I'll see you Monday, fourth hour."

Rachel reached out and placed a hand over Quinn's own. Their hands rested together momentarily against Quinn's arm, and she felt whole. Rachel ran her fingers back and forth over Quinn's warm skin, and it was all Quinn could do to breathe deeply in and out through her nose. "Yeah, Monday." It was the most coherent statement Rachel was going to get out of her in that moment.

For a brief flash, Quinn thought Rachel was leaning forward – she thought that the girl was ignoring Quinn's personal bubble of space and was going to hug her or, better (worse) yet, _kiss _her. But Rachel was just leaning over slightly in order to reach down and pull the door handle, never breaking eye contact with Quinn. Then she was stepping out of the car and had almost closed the door when she suddenly opened it again. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I need to return your sweater."

The garment was already shrugged halfway off of her form before Quinn mustered the stunning speech capacity to basically shout, "No!" Rachel paused in her movements. "No, uhh… Go ahead and keep it. It looks good on you." _I like seeing you in my clothes_, Quinn thought but could never vocalize.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she quickly ascertained.

"Thank you," Rachel replied, smiling brightly and gently shutting the car door before walking up the front steps and into the empty house.

Quinn watched intently as Rachel shut the front door behind her, and she didn't pull away until she saw one of the lights switch on in the house.

* * *

Monday morning, Quinn arrived at school earlier than she usually did. She signed in and walked down the empty hallways. The quietness had been omnipresent since Quinn's first day, even with the students meandering through the halls. Then, she had contemplated whether it was comforting or eerie.

Now, she had finally settled on _comforting._

With twenty minutes until the school day was set to begin, the door to Quinn's classroom opened. She looked up from her desk where she had been leaning back in her chair with her legs crossed and a book thumbed open in front of her face. The sight of Rachel Berry striding confidently across the floor towards her caused a smile to slip easily onto Quinn's features. She marked her place in the book and leaned forward, placing it on her desk.

"Good morning, Rachel."

"Morning, Miss Fabray," Rachel responded. She grinned – with bright eyes and crooked lips – before reaching into her bag at her side and pulling out a manila envelope. She handed it to her teacher, and Quinn smiled down at the words written in neat, block letters on the front: **ADMISSIONS ESSAY, Ticket out of Ohio**.

"You've finished it?"

Rachel nodded. "This is probably the seventh draft or something." They shared a smile, and Quinn's insides ached at the fierce, passionate gaze with which Rachel held her stare. It was a look that Quinn had (tried to) become accustomed to, but she wasn't sure that she would ever stop feeling butterflies around the younger girl. "Well, I'm going to try and find Mr. Rumba. I wanted to talk to him about some choir things for next year, for after I'm gone and everything."

Quinn fingered the corner of the envelope and she blinked once before replying, "Great, Rachel. I'll see you in class."

Rachel didn't say anything, but she did turn on her heel and gracefully exit the room – leaving Quinn, as always, with more thoughts on her mind than she had experienced before the girl's arrival.

Quinn stared briefly at the place in the doorway where Rachel's skirt had disappeared before looking down at the essay-containing envelope on her desk. She smiled and opened it, eager to see what Rachel had come up with to impress the admissions committee of one of the finest schools of the arts in the entire world.

* * *

The Confrontation (as Quinn was calling it in her mind) that she had experienced over the holiday break with Rachel in that bathroom – their bodies touching and their lips dangerously close and Rachel's spoken words caressing her lips – was something that Quinn thought about a lot. _Who wouldn't?_ What she was _most _worried about, however, was in what ways The Confrontation would affect her ability to remain professional during school. Because Quinn had analyzed and contemplated and rethought and overanalyzed some more the _entire_ situation, and she was almost one hundred percent convinced that Rachel had feelings for her – and that she knew _Quinn_ had feelings for _Rachel_.

And that potentially made for very interesting circumstances in the classroom environment – tricky, slippery, complicated, and perhaps even awkward circumstances.

Rachel walked through the classroom door first – she had long ago abandoned being the sixth and final person to take her seat in senior English. She pulled out her notebook and a pen and started writing something on one of the pages. Quinn tried not to stare. Rachel was being so calm and cool and collected, and Quinn was both impressed and jealous. She was the _adult_ in this situation, and yet there she sat at her desk – a bundle of jittery nerves – while Rachel nonchalantly acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was probably for the best, so Quinn followed her example. And things were surprisingly not awkward at all.

The class passed smoothly, as had Quinn's other classes that day. As the hour ended and everyone started packing up, Quinn motioned for Rachel to stay behind a moment.

She walked over to her desk and picked up the manila envelope before walking back over to where Rachel was still sitting. The last student left the classroom with a small wave in Quinn's direction which she returned with a soft smile before turning back to Rachel. "Here you go," she said, handing the envelope over. "I read it before school started a couple of times, and I made some notes between classes."

"You're…" Rachel trailed off as she stared at Quinn's outstretched hand. "You're already done?" She smiled, and Quinn thought she looked joyfully youthful in that moment. Rachel reached out and took the envelope from Quinn, purposefully brushing her fingertips against Quinn's.

With a blush already blossoming across her cheeks, Quinn retracted her hands. "Yes, I'm done."

"Thoughts?" Rachel questioned.

Quinn just smiled and shook her head kindly. "I think you know just how perfect it was, Rachel."

* * *

It had been one month, three weeks, and two days. Fifty-four days since Rachel mailed her application, essay, letters of recommendation, and recording of _My Man_ off to New York City, to Juilliard.

Rachel walked up the street to her house from the bus stop. She reached into the front pocket of her bag and searched for her keys as she approached her front door. She let herself inside, depositing her things in the hallway before bending down to retrieve the mail. Walking into the kitchen, she placed the half dozen envelopes on the table before grabbing a glass for some water – old habits. She took a few sips of the cool liquid as she flipped through the mail.

After only two bills and a postcard from Shelby's aunt, Rachel came face to face with Juilliard's official seal.

An hour and a half later, Shelby walked into the house. "Rachel!" she called. "I'm home!" Entering the kitchen, she saw Rachel sitting at the table. "Hey sweetie, what do you want for dinner? I'm starving." She started opening cabinets and had gotten half of the necessary ingredients for spaghetti out before she looked over and realized that her daughter hadn't moved an inch. "Rachel? What's wrong?"

Rachel finally blinked, her eyes shifting from the envelope that was resting on the tips of her fingers. The seal sparkled faintly in the light. It was surreal. She turned and looked at her mother. "I got a letter."

"What?" Shelby questioned, moving across the room and looking over Rachel's shoulder. Her eyes widened. "Rach, honey… Open it."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I really can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my _future_ at stake."

"You'll never know until you open it."

"I'm scared."

"Do you want me to do it?"

Rachel nodded and handed it over her shoulder to Shelby before instantly laying her forehead against the cool wood of the kitchen table. She breathed deeply through her nose as she heard the ripping of paper and the unfolding of the letter.

"Rachel…"

Rachel started shaking her head back and forth, still with her face pressed against the table. Shelby's voice was not telling, but Rachel was already chanting, _No no no no no, this can't be happening_, in her head.

"Rachel, do you want to know what it says or not?"

Rachel sat up straight, tilting her head back and sighing in dramatic fashion. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, please."

Shelby wasted no time. "Rachel, they want you to come audition and interview in person!"

They jumped around the kitchen for five solid minutes, squealing and crying and laughing and hugging and dancing to music that wasn't playing. Rachel had set a goal, and she had achieved it. Now, it was time to travel to the City and seal the deal.

* * *

That Friday afternoon – after much talk and deliberation between mother and daughter and a final agreement about the situation – Shelby walked into Haverbrook as the final class of the day came to a close. Rachel met her at the front desk, and together, they walked to Miss Fabray's classroom, room 107.

Rachel knocked lightly on the door – something she didn't _normally _do, but something that felt right in that moment – before entering, Shelby close behind her. "Miss Fabray?" she questioned.

Quinn's head snapped up from where she had been grading a stack of tests. She removed her glasses and stood up as she saw Rachel's mother follow her inside. "Hi Rachel, Shelby. So nice to see you again." She moved forward and shook Shelby's hand.

"It's good to see you too, Quinn," Shelby replied. Rachel simply smiled and took a seat in her normal desk.

"How can I help you?" Quinn questioned, moving to lean against the edge of her own desk with her ankles crossed in front of her. Her pencil skirt ended just below her knees, and her eyes briefly shifted from Shelby to Rachel. Quinn managed to catch the other girl staring at her legs. She smiled wider – in an attempt to hide the smirk that was threatening to escape at having caught Rachel ogling her.

"Well, we've recently received some really great news," Shelby began, immediately slipping into Proud Parent Mode. "Rachel has been offered a slot to interview and audition at Juilliard in just a couple of weeks!"

"What?" Quinn exclaimed. "Rachel! That's amazing!" Rachel ducked her head shyly, and Quinn saw the pink tint on her cheeks. She only loved her more for it. "Congratulations," she continued, her tone slightly softened, attempting to convey everything that she couldn't say with Shelby in the room – things that she might not even have the courage to say if Shelby _wasn't_ there.

"Thank you," Rachel quietly replied. She looked up from her desk, and Quinn suppressed a shudder. Her beautiful brown eyes looking up at Quinn through long, thick eyelashes, her bottom lip held delicately between her teeth, her hand reaching up to rest against her cheek...

Quinn was grateful when Shelby began talking again.

"Unfortunately, we have a bit of a problem."

"A problem?" Quinn asked.

"Well, it's really a minor detail, and we were hoping that you could help us out – that you could help _Rachel _out. This means more to her than anything, and I want to make sure that it's done right."

Quinn nodded her head emphatically. "Absolutely," she was quick to reassure the woman in front of her. "Please let me know what I can do to help."

Shelby began talking quickly. She had a lot of ground to cover. "My job doesn't allow me the flexibility of rearranging my schedule less than six to eight weeks ahead of time. I work long hours most days of the week, and Rachel's audition falls on a weekend that I'm scheduled for a conference. So I won't even be in Lima to travel with her, I'll be in Columbus. Now, there are some funds that have been set aside for Rachel that she and I have decided to use to make sure her Juilliard dreams come true. And we were hoping, Quinn, that you could possible accompany Rachel to her audition? We will, of course, pay for your plane ticket. And we would be renting a hotel room anyway if I were going, so there would be no other expense for you to go. The audition is on a Saturday, so_ if you could go with her_, you would fly out from Cincinnati on Friday night and then return on Sunday. I _know_ that it's a lot to ask, but Will and Rachel both always speak _so_ highly of you. There's no one else with whom I would entrust my daughter during such an important weekend for her."

Quinn's eyes were wide and her lips were parted slightly in a very distinctive 'oh' shape as Shelby's words streaked across her mind. She glanced in Rachel's direction once more, but the girl's face was unhelpfully inexpressive.

"Would you please do me this favor, Quinn? I understand if you have other things going on, but you're the first person I wanted to ask."

_No…no no __**no**__, _Quinn's mind was **shouting** at her. _Don't do it, Fabray. _

_Think about this for one hot second, and you'll see the risks – __**unnecessary risks**__!_

_**Don't you dare say yes!**_

_This is nothing but trouble. _

_No. _

_Bad things may come of this. _

_Bad things probably __**will**__ come of this. _

_**Resist the urge.**_

_No. _

_No._

_**NO.**_

"Sure," Quinn said, and she wondered when the hell she had lost all semblance of self-control.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn stood in her closet, biting her lip and perusing her clothes with her eyes squinted critically. She eyed her little black dress thoughtfully and wondered if there would really be an opportunity in late February weather to wear it. She shrugged to herself before slipping it off of the hanger and walking back into her bedroom.

Will was standing just inside her doorway in sweats and a t-shirt. He was tossing a racquetball up and down, sometimes catching it just over his left shoulder. "I'm so jealous of you right now, Quinn. Do you think you and Rachel will have time to see any Broadway shows while you're there this weekend?"

Folding her LBD carefully on her comforter before placing it on top of her already mostly-packed suitcase, Quinn nodded thoughtfully. "I think we probably will have time. I've googled the places we can go to get tickets, so I might treat Rachel to a show after her audition."

"Wow," Will said, a note of legitimate awe in his voice. "I still can't believe she's auditioning at Juilliard. That's just so incredible! I would be lying if I said that fifteen-years-ago-Will isn't a little jealous, but it's so exciting for her."

"Have you heard her sing?" Quinn questioned as she walked back into her closet to pick out an extra pair of jeans – just in case.

"I haven't, but Shelby mentioned it once or twice. I can't tell if Rachel's really Broadway caliber or if Shelby is just being the semi-biased parent that she has every right to be."

Quinn stuck her head out of the closet and placed her hand on the doorjamb to steady herself. She waited until Will had again caught his racquetball and shifted his eyes to hers before purposefully stating, "She's not being biased."

"Wow…" Will said again, trailing off with another look of awe on his face. If the girl was really _that_ good, this audition may already be in the bag.

Having previously dressed in her comfortable travel clothes, Quinn quickly grabbed another travel-worthy outfit for Sunday as she headed back to her bed and to her open suitcase. They had to leave Lima within the hour to make it to Cincinnati in time to catch their direct flight to the City, so she was attempting to be as efficient as possible. She was headed into the bathroom to grab all of her toiletry supplies when a knock sounded on the apartment door.

Without even knowing whether or not it was Rachel (_Come on, Quinn, it's totally Rachel_), Quinn's heart immediately began to race. She was like a little kid, hypothetically bouncing from foot to foot while the parents packed up the car for a big summer vacation or something.

She had butterflies, and she kind of loved it.

"I'll get it," Will called over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall and to the living room before Quinn had time to fully turn from her bathroom to the entryway. She proceeded to grab her things, intent on pretending like she wasn't totally giddy with excitement to see Rachel Berry walk through the door.

* * *

"I'll have my cell phone on me at _all times_ this weekend. I want you to call me as soon as you get out of your audition to let me know how everything went, ok? And call me tonight when you get to the hotel so that I know you guys got there safely. And Sunday before you get on your plane!" Shelby's words were rushed. She felt guilty, but she had to drop Rachel off at Quinn's and head to Columbus as soon as possible to make the required banquet service that night. She was in full-on Concerned Mom Mode. She was sad that she couldn't accompany Rachel, but she was glad that someone as lovely and trustworthy as Quinn would be with her daughter all weekend.

"Yes, I promise to call you all of the times you just mentioned." Rachel's voice was laced with the faintest trace of teasing and mirth, and Shelby smiled along with her before reaching across the center console and crushing Rachel to her in a hug. Rachel felt her sniffle against her hair. "Hey, seriously, don't cry. You'll make me cry. This is going to be a magnificent weekend, there's nothing to be sad about."

"I know," Shelby hiccupped, pulling back and carefully wiping away the running mascara from underneath her eyes. "I'm just so proud of you, Rachel."

Rachel smiled back at her mother. "Thank you for everything." They shared smiles as Rachel reached for Shelby's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Now go! You'll never get there in time at this rate." She hopped out of the car and grabbed her suitcase out of the backseat (it was bright pink) before leaning back inside the rolled down front window. "Drive safe," she said softly.

"Tell Quinn I say the same!"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You must have told her that at least three times last night. For someone so trusting in her ability to manage my safety for one weekend, you sure are overbearing."

"I'm a mom," Shelby replied with a watery smile. "It's what I do."

They said their last round of goodbyes before Rachel made her way up to apartment 205.

* * *

"Come on in, Rachel!"

Quinn heard Rachel's voice from the other room before she saw her. "Thank you, Mr. Schuester."

Peeking her head around her bedroom doorframe, Quinn caught sight of her student. Rachel was placing her suitcase up against the wall as Will welcomed her into the apartment.

"I can't even imagine how excited you must be. It's been several years since I last made it to the City, and I know you must be so excited…" Will kept talking, and Rachel nodded and responded in all the right places.

But her eyes had caught sight of Quinn. Will was bouncing the racquetball up and down on the floor as he continued to gush about Broadway and Times Square and all of the bright lights and the great food and yatta yatta. So he didn't notice when Rachel's eyes remained fixated just over his right shoulder. He didn't notice her bite her lip and lift her left hand in the air, slowly wiggling her fingers in Quinn's direction in greeting.

And when Quinn realized she had been caught staring – observing – she didn't run. She didn't hide. She didn't try and pretend like she hadn't been staring – _observing_ – at all. She simply allowed her emotions to take over in that moment.

And it was those very emotions that caused the biggest smile possibly _ever_ to cover her face.

This weekend was real. This weekend was happening. And part of Quinn was floating airily away into the atmosphere at the realization that this was _more_ than a trip to New York City, _more_ than her accompanying Rachel to her Juilliard audition.

This was the beginning of something much, _much_ bigger.

* * *

Will walked out of the apartment behind them. Before fully shutting and locking the door, he asked, "Are you sure you got everything?"

Quinn nodded. "Yep, double and triple checked."

He chuckled and gave them one last round of '_good luck_'s and '_have a safe trip_'s before hopping in his car and heading toward the gym for a man date with Ken.

Quinn unlocked her car with the automatic entry as they walked up to it, popping the trunk remotely. She lifted the trunk fully before placing her suitcase inside. Rachel wheeled her (hot) pink suitcase over and pushed the handle down. As she leant down to pick it up and place it in the trunk, Quinn rushed forward. "No, no. Let me."

Quinn managed to only _internally_ wince at how cheesy she had sounded.

Rachel held back no portion of her megawatt smile at the gesture. It had been chivalrous, to say the least.

The blush on Quinn's cheeks when she finally situated herself behind the wheel was something she unsuccessfully tried to blame on the cold wind. Making sure her charge for the weekend fastened her seatbelt, Quinn buckled her own and drove out of the parking lot. "I hope you don't mind," Quinn said, "but I've had the most awful time remembering to grab my coat from the theatre. I'd really like to have it for this trip, so I'm going to make a short detour first. We should still have plenty of time for the drive."

"Of course," Rachel quickly replied, reaching her hand out to touch her fingertips to the back of Quinn's hand on the stick. "It's not a problem." She almost had to bite her tongue to keep from adding the '_Quinn_' to the end of her statement.

Quinn quickly smiled over at Rachel. She didn't move her hand, nor did she make any attempt to shake Rachel off. She just smiled at Rachel like this was an everyday occurrence and returned her eyes to the road ahead.

_Progress_, Rachel thought, _is a beautiful thing._

_Her hand_, Quinn thought_, is frigging soft._

* * *

Rachel's thoughts had been filled with little more than the New York City trip ever since she received her letter. She had been thinking about song selections and what she would wear, she had been thinking about possible interview questions and what they would have to say about her admissions essay, she had been thinking about what it would be like to be _away_ and _with Quinn_ for three days. But her thoughts weren't a jumbled mess – they were clear and precise and she knew _exactly_ what she wanted.

Rachel wanted New York City.

Rachel wanted Broadway aspirations to eventually become actualities.

Rachel wanted Quinn Fabray.

They pulled into the parking lot behind the theatre. "Oh, great! I see Sherry's car." She pulled to a stop and left the car running. "I'll be back in just a couple minutes, Rach."

Then Quinn was running towards the building, pulling open the backdoor, and slipping inside. And Rachel was left with her lips parted and her breathing shallow. A smile blossomed across her face almost instantly, and laughter bubbled up from her chest, escaping from the confines of her throat before she had even realized that the laughter was from pure happiness. Because Quinn had called her '_Rach_', and it had happened as if it was the most natural thing in the entire world.

When something is right, it's just right.

Rachel suddenly had the urge to _not_ wait in the car. She unbuckled and turned off the vehicle before heading inside the building. She entered the backstage area and quickly made her way onto the stage.

Only recently had Rachel really become reacquainted with the stage, reacquainted with what it meant to be in the spotlight. She had performed _My Man_ for Quinn, and she had performed just about every song she could get her hands on over the past two weeks for her bedroom mirror (and for Shelby when she was home). But there was something about the stage – even this relatively small stage with only a ghost light illuminating her back against the darkness – that made Rachel feel as if she was at home.

Quinn was suddenly walking down the aisle on stage right. Rachel shifted her eyes down from the single set of balcony box seats when Quinn spoke. "Imagine what it will feel like when you're on a real Broadway stage."

Rachel smiled confidently back out at her…her… teacher?

Her friend?

Her confidant?

Her future…lover?

Her _Quinn_.

"Hopefully," Rachel replied simply. Quinn was standing in front of the stage now, her coat draped over her arms. "Ready to go?"

"I'm ready if you're ready," Quinn replied. Rachel hoped that she meant she was ready for something _more_ than just the drive to Cincinnati. But part of Rachel knew that Quinn meant exactly that.

A girl can dream. But _**not yet **_was beginning to feel a lot like _**any minute now**_.

* * *

Quinn turned the page of her book slowly. The paper was crisp underneath her fingertips, and she felt more than heard the crinkle of the page and the slightest bending of the spine in her hands. She and Rachel were seated next to each other at their gate, waiting for their group number to be called for their flight.

Looking over at Rachel, Quinn noticed that the other girl was staring unflinchingly out at the airplane that they would be boarding in just a few minutes. She placed her book down in her lap as she really took the time to stare at – _to observe_ – Rachel (as if she didn't normally). The brunette's right leg was bouncing, but it was so slight that Quinn hadn't noticed it before. Her hands were clasped firmly in her lap.

Quinn tapped on Rachel's arm. Rachel turned quickly, seemingly shaken out of whatever thoughts had been occupying her mind. Quinn didn't speak, but she lifted her hands and asked, _Is there something wrong?_

The softest smile Quinn had possibly ever seen on the younger girl's face suddenly appeared. Quinn wasn't sure if it was because she had signed her question to Rachel or because she had asked the question, period. _It's kind of silly,_ Rachel replied. The movements of her hands were less confident than Quinn was used to seeing.

_I'm sure it's not silly at all. Please tell me_, Quinn signed in return.

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek before finally relenting. _I've never flown before. I really just don't know what to expect. It's_… she paused as she looked for the right word …_daunting._

When Quinn smiled in response, it wasn't belittling or demeaning. It was simply supportive and understanding, and her heart almost convinced her brain to convince her hands to reach out and pull Rachel into a comforting hug then and there. _It'll be ok,_ Quinn signed. _I've flown several times. It's an interesting feeling the first time, but I think you'll enjoy it._

_Are you sure?_

_I'm sure_.

Whether or not Rachel trusted her meant more to Quinn than she cared to admit.

* * *

Quinn neatly folded her coat and placed it on top of her suitcase in the overhead compartment. She grabbed her book with her right hand from where she had it tucked underneath her left arm. Sitting down in her seat next to Rachel, Quinn buckled herself in while simultaneously noting that Rachel had already done so.

Leaning her shoulder a bit into Rachel's personal space, Quinn nudged her lightly to get her attention. As soon as those beautiful brown eyes locked with Quinn's, she knew she would do anything to make them look less frightened. She was suddenly seeing that girl – cornered, found out – from their first day of classes together. _Hey_, Quinn signed. Rachel smiled faintly, but it was tight-lipped and her eyes didn't sparkle in the captivating way Quinn was used to. _I promise there's nothing to be afraid of_, Quinn tried to reassure.

_Part of me understands just how irrational I'm acting_, Rachel signed in response. _But I can't make myself less afraid for some reason._ She again folded her hands in her lap and leaned her head back against the uncomfortably awkward headrest.

Quinn suddenly found her eyes distracted by the smooth expanse of skin from Rachel's jaw down to the generously apportioned v-neck of the lovely black sweater she was wearing. Her skin was darker than Quinn's. It looked so soft, and Quinn felt herself shifting in her seat towards Rachel, crossing her right knee over her left and allowing their knees to almost brush. _Rachel_, she signed the girl's name deliberately. Rachel's fear had already faded minutely under Quinn's intense stare. _Do you have any idea how beautiful you look in this moment? Nothing can touch you, Rachel. You're truly fearless, this flight is nothing. Don't be afraid._

Naturally, Rachel fixated on the first statement. _Beautiful?_ she questioned.

Quinn leaned her head back against her own headrest. _That's what I said_, Quinn answered. _And I meant it._

Rachel's knees shifted as well, and their shins were suddenly pressed together through the material of their jeans. Rachel's ankle crossed over Quinn's, resting there as if they were puzzle pieces that had just found their match. Quinn swallowed thickly, feeling as if most of the air had been sucked out of the plane. She breathed heavily once through her nose before her eyes shifted downward, noting that Rachel's hand was achingly close to her own. When she signed again, it was partly to remove her traitorous hand from the situation – the hand she knew would too willingly wrap itself around Rachel's if the other girl gave her a sign that it was ok.

_I'm not supposed to want this_, Quinn signed. A huge weight descended on her chest simply because she _just said that!_ She wasn't supposed to admit such things. She was supposed to accept that, sure, she was falling in love with her student – that she perhaps had already done exactly that. But to acknowledge it in front of said student? No. She wasn't supposed to… She shouldn't have…

Then Rachel was signing, _But you do._

And the weight was suddenly gone, because Rachel's signs had been _statement_ and not _question_. Quinn was back in that bathroom now with Rachel's hips pressed against hers, sharing the same air and the same space and the same time. And she was imagining those lips right in front of hers, breathing each other in, out, in, out. _**Not yet**_ was… was _**now**__?_

No, not _**now**_, but _**soon.**_ God, Quinn hoped against all rational thought that it – whatever _it_ would turn out to be – was getting closer.

Rachel's eyes shifted over Quinn's shoulder abruptly. A troubled look descended upon her features, and she was suddenly drawing completely away from Quinn and crossing her arms over her stomach.

More than a little curious, Quinn quickly turned in her seat to face the aisle to see what the hell had caused Rachel to shut down. A middle-aged man wearing slacks and a dress shirt with a crisp tie was staring in their direction from across the aisle. Quinn's defenses immediately went into overdrive as her metaphorical hackles rose challengingly. "Can I help you with something?" Quinn asked out loud, but she also signed the words.

The man's eyebrows rose. Not only had Quinn surprised him by speaking, but she was using a glare that she had taught Santana years ago. Santana had been rumored to cause the weak to wet themselves, but Quinn could cause even the strong to lose bodily function. "You can speak?" he questioned.

"Yes, and I can hear. I can also see perfectly fine, and I don't appreciate you staring." Quinn wouldn't have added the last sentence, but his eyes kept shifting from Quinn to Rachel and back again. Staring was only ok when it was _observing_ and when it was done by _herself, _not this moron.

The man's face twisted momentarily, upset at having been told off by a woman – or something, Quinn was sure. He reminded her painfully of her father, and it _would_ be something such as '_insubordination'_ by a female that would get him riled up the most in this situation. Instead of reacting, however, the man simply sneered before turning back to his _Sky Mall _magazine and proceeding to ignore the blonde.

Quinn straightened in her seat, leaning her head back. The plane began its taxi to the runway, and Quinn felt pressure on her arm. She looked down and then over at Rachel. This time when their eyes locked, Quinn saw no fear. She connected with those brilliantly sparkling brown pools, and she felt her body immediately relax.

_Thank you,_ Rachel signed. Quinn began to shake her head and explain that Rachel didn't need to thank her, but the girl interrupted. _Thank you for being my knight in shining armor._ Quinn grinned at the sentiment, and Rachel continued. _You look beautiful too, you know, when you're standing up for me like that._

_I was standing up for us._

_You were being protective. It was adorable._

Quinn smiled and leaned back in her chair again, looking forward as the plane began to race ahead, picking up speed for its ascent into the air. Suddenly, the skin of Quinn's cheek was on _fire_. Rachel's lips were pressed there, and Quinn thought the plane must have crashed because this was heaven. Then Rachel's lips were gone, and her breath was ghosting against Quinn's ear – as if in a dream – and she was whispering, "_Thanks_."

Looking over, Quinn was met with a nervous – but not frightened – Rachel, staring out the window at the ground racing by underneath them. Quinn had done things before without thought or hesitation when it came to Rachel, and when she reached down and grasped Rachel's right hand with her left, encompassing Rachel in her warmth and comfort and safety, it felt right and fair and relatively harmless. And just before the plane's wheels lifted off of the ground, Rachel shifted back to look Quinn in the eyes, and she laced their fingers deliberately together.

The look in Rachel's eyes felt a lot like soaring above the clouds, and Quinn was oddly at _perfect_ peace with the situation for the first time since she met this magnificent young woman sitting next to her.

* * *

_A/N: What, they're not even to NYC yet? Sigh. ;-) I have a lot more planned for the next chapter or two, so hopefully that means I'll update super fast or something, right?_

_Again to all of the __**Anon**__ reviewers, your thoughts are appreciated – more than I can really express. And to __**bohn28**__ (since I can't PM you personally), thank you for your review. _

_And to __**everyone**__ reading along, I hope that you're still enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Because I write for myself, but I try to write to the best of my ability because of __**you**__._


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: This chapter is coming out faster than usual for a couple of different reasons. I was really just feeling inspired, but I also forgot to do a __**HUGE shout out**__._

_If you're on tumblr (or even if you're not, who am I kidding?), check out __**lilmeister's**__**tumblr**__ at: lilmeister (dot) tumblr (dot) com. She has been __**drawing scenes from this story**__, and I am in awe of her! It really is the coolest thing to see someone bringing this story to life. She has two scenes up right now (the bathroom scene, and the footsie theatre scene), so go check them out! Follow her because she is awesome and her tumblr is full of pretty!_

_Another note to __**October is Over**__ (since I can't PM you personally): The rating is only relatively concrete. The sexual dream from the beginning of chapter 8 is probably as explicit as this story is going to get. But never say never! And __**look**__, I posted __**tonight**__! ;-)_

_**I hope you all enjoy this chapter.**__ Also, don't count on two chapters a day happening ever again. This was a rare occurrence for this story, but I couldn't resist._

**The Silence of Silence**

Rachel looked down at the magazine in front of her. "I'm so bad at crossword puzzles."

Quinn smiled as she filled in another box on her sudoku. "Yeah, me too."

"Well then who's going to help me with the infamous _New York Times_ Sunday puzzle?"

Arching her eyebrows but keeping her eyes on her own page, Quinn replied, "You're not getting any help from me. Unless you want me to google answers for you from my phone."

Even with her eyes still downcast in front of her, Quinn heard the smile in Rachel's voice as she said, "I find that perfectly acceptable, Quinn."

Quinn glanced in Rachel's direction momentarily. Rachel didn't acknowledge what she had just said – Quinn's first name – but it was there. She wondered if there was anything that could cross those pretty lips and sound anything other than simply perfect. She smiled as she placed her left hand down on her tray, steadying the magazine as she made a mark in another square. And then Rachel was abandoning her own pencil and placing her right hand delicately over Quinn's.

Neither looking at the other, they both smiled to themselves. They were Quinn and Rachel, Rachel and Quinn. No matter how you spun the situation, it just _was._

* * *

Rachel handled the landing surprisingly well – even though the plane literally felt like it bounced three or four times before finally settling against the concrete expanse of the runway. Finally feeling safe in the comforting roar of the brakes, Rachel loosened her tight grip on Quinn's hand. The blonde's arm was stretched fully into Rachel's lap, as Rachel had been holding on tightly with all ten of her fingers. Even as she loosened her hold, Quinn didn't pull her hand away. Rachel smiled sweetly to herself at the silent gesture of support (and maybe even something more).

Quinn reached into the seatback pocket in front of her with her free hand and turned her cell phone on. After a few moments, Rachel heard the glorious sound of Quinn's quiet laughter. She squeezed Quinn's hand. "What's so funny?"

Quinn didn't verbally respond, instead choosing to show Rachel the text she had received. It was from Quinn's friend, Santana.

**Hey Q, Brittany is in my apartment right now. IN MY APARRTMENT! OK, don't text back because I'll be busy, if ya know what I mean. LATER!**

It was complete with a winking smiley face. Rachel found herself smiling along with Quinn and wondering when exactly it was that they had fallen into this zone of ease and comfort with each other. She couldn't place it precisely, but she found it didn't really matter.

When the seatbelt sign turned off and Quinn abruptly stood, stepping into the aisle and hip-checking the man who had been leering unnervingly at them at the beginning of the plane ride, Rachel fell even more in love than she had been before.

* * *

The two women sat in the back of the cab from JFK to their hotel and argued for five straight minutes about who would pay the fare.

"You bought us those bagels before we got on the plane –"

"You and your mom bought the plane tickets –"

"You drove us to the airport, so you're paying for gas –"

"You're paying for the hotel –"

"You're giving up your time and energy to –"

"Rachel," Quinn finally said, her tone abruptly causing Rachel's mouth to snap closed and her eyes to sparkle. "You and your mom have put a lot of money into this. Please don't argue with me about money this weekend, ok? I wouldn't be able to be here at all if it wasn't for you, so just let it be."

Rachel bit her lip, and Quinn found herself wanting to bite it too. "Are you sure?" she quietly questioned.

Quinn nodded, but she couldn't drag her eyes away from those lips. She didn't let a beat pass by, however, before she replied. "I'm sure."

When Rachel just smiled, resting her hands in her lap and staring out at the bright lights of the city around them, Quinn started to believe that Rachel really did trust her, even though she hadn't said it yet. Perhaps they were just words that would never have to be spoken.

* * *

"Here we are, ladies," the cab driver spoke over his shoulder before popping the trunk and stepping out of the vehicle. Quinn took note of the fare and grabbed the appropriate amount of money plus tip – he had been an extraordinary driver, not at all living up the bad reputation of New York City cabbies – before stepping out onto the curb. Rachel slid across the seat and stepped out behind her.

Quinn couldn't help but take a moment to gaze upward and all around, taking in the lights and the sights, the sounds and the people. Night had already begun to fall, but it seemed that everything was still in full swing.

"Why do you think it smells so wet?" Rachel asked.

Quinn couldn't help but laugh as she took in the giddy expression on Rachel's face. "I haven't the slightest clue, Rach."

After paying the cab driver, they walked shoulder to shoulder towards the hotel. The doorman opened the door for them, and they both thanked him sincerely. Walking towards the front desk, Quinn stopped in line behind an elderly man and a woman who appeared to be his wife. They stepped forward and were waited on, and then it was Quinn's turn. Her eyes followed them briefly as they walked off, grinning to herself at their clasped hands.

"Good evening, ma'am. Welcome to On the Avenue. How may I help you this evening?"

"Hi, we're here to check in. There should be a reservation under Corcoran," Quinn answered politely as she reached into her purse for the credit card Shelby had used to make the reservation.

The young man working the desk alone accepted the card with a smile on his face as he pulled up the information on his computer. "Great, looks like we're all set. We have you in one of our special panoramic view rooms on the sixteenth floor with beautiful, breathtaking views of Manhattan from your terrace. It's a single with optional turndown service, would you like to take advantage of that, ladies?"

Quinn's brow furrowed. "Wait, no – it's not supposed to be a single –"

Rachel quickly peeped up over Quinn's right shoulder, one hand on Quinn's as she began to protest the room assignment. "We'll take it!"

The elevator door slid open, and Quinn followed Rachel inside. The other girl was clearly excited, eagerly pushing the button for their floor, the **16** illuminating underneath the tip of her finger as she pulled away. Soft jazz played around them as the elevator began to make its climb. They were alone, each leaning against opposite walls, yet staring intensely at the other. No words were said, but the air was thick with tension that refused to dissipate until the elevator doors opened and a soft voice proclaimed, "_Sixteenth floor, going down."_

Quinn stepped out first with Rachel close on her heels. They followed the signs to their room – 1517. Unlocking the door with the keycard, Quinn pushed it inward and held it open for Rachel to enter first. Rachel ducked her head with an adorable smile on her face before entering. Quinn followed behind her, but stopped as Rachel flipped on a light switch and gasped into the silence of the room.

"Oh my gosh," Rachel said softly, continuing to move forward. She placed her suitcase against the wall next to the desk. "Quinn…" And then she was opening up the door that led to their outside terrace, and Quinn was moving forward quickly to follow her, depositing her own suitcase on its side in a chair.

"Oh, wow," Quinn said as she moved out onto the balcony. Rachel was standing at the railing, looking out over the cityscape below them. Manhattan was spread out all around them, transcendentally beautiful. Quinn took a seat on one of the dark, wicker lounge couches. The cream colored cushion was soft against her hands.

They existed like that – alone but together – for a few moments. Quinn, staring at Rachel with her arms spread out to her sides, hands on the railing and her loose hair blowing freely in the cool breeze. Eventually, Rachel turned around. She caught Quinn staring – _observing_ – but made no comment on it. She walked over to the couch Quinn was sitting on (instead of one of the two available wicker chairs) and lowered herself to the cushion right next to Quinn. Their eyes remained locked the entire time, Rachel's gaze only breaking away momentarily to glance back out at the view. "What do you think?" Rachel asked into the quiet.

_Beautiful,_ Quinn signed when Rachel's eyes shifted back to her.

She meant the view. She meant the city. She meant the hotel. She meant the moment.

She meant _Rachel._

Rachel's legs were curled up underneath her with her knees touching Quinn's right thigh. "It is, isn't it?"

The tone of voice Rachel used let Quinn know that they both knew _exactly_ what the other thought was _beautiful_.

Propping her head lightly against her hand, her elbow resting on the back of the couch, Rachel put her free hand on her knee. Her index finger scratched softly at the fabric of Quinn's jeans. If they had been any closer, she would have felt Quinn shiver into her touch. "What time is it?" Rachel's words broke the silence that had descended upon them.

Quinn pulled her phone out of her pocket. "It's just a little after nine. I don't know what time you're planning on getting to bed…"

"Oh, not for a while yet."

Quinn gulped.

"Not until we go to Times Square, at least!" Rachel giggled at the wide-eyed stare on Quinn's face as she hopped up, offering her hands to Quinn. The blonde accepted and was pulled to her feet easily by the smaller girl.

And then Rachel was wrapping her arms around Quinn, hugging her so softly and so tightly at the same time that Quinn was afraid that she would pass out from sheer closeness. In her Rachel Berry haze, Quinn did the only thing she could think to do – she took her arms and wrapped them around Rachel, pulling her as close to her body as she could manage, her calves pressed against the edge of the couch. They stood that way for a couple of minutes, but Quinn wasn't complaining, and neither was Rachel.

"Is everything ok?" Quinn whispered into the delicious-smelling hair against her cheek.

She felt Rachel nod against her collarbone. "It will be."

A few minutes later, they pulled apart. But Rachel quickly laced her fingers with Quinn's, pulling her back inside. Quinn shut the terrace door behind them. They grabbed what they would need for a Times Square excursion – camera, wallets, phones – and headed out the door.

Rachel was halfway to the elevator by the time Quinn was pulling their hotel room door closed. The last thing she saw inside was the illuminated, pristinely white comforter of the lone king bed in the room. She swallowed at the sight and heard the sound pulse in her ears. She had known this weekend was going to be interesting, but not _this _interesting.

After knowing Rachel Berry for the past seven months, she should have known better.

* * *

When the cab found a decent stopping place in the busy streets near Times Square, Quinn practically threw a twenty dollar bill at their driver before latching onto Rachel's wrist and hauling both of them quickly out of the vehicle.

"Dear Lord," Quinn said dramatically. "_He _was a _terrible_ driver."

Rachel giggled as she took in Quinn's pale complexion. "He got us here in one piece, didn't he?"

"Barely," Quinn said. "I think I would ride a bike or something if I lived here."

"And risk getting hit by crazy taxi drivers such as that guy? No way."

Quinn grinned. "As long as you're admitting that he was crazy."

Rachel smirked in return. "As long as you're admitting that you're considering what it would be like to live here."

Hesitating only for the briefest of moments, Quinn rolled her eyes playfully. "Fine. We _both _win."

Their argument was forgotten as Rachel grabbed Quinn's hand and pulled her out into the heart of Times Square. She began to twirl slowly in place, taking in everything around her – the seemingly infinite billboards, the bright lights, the storefronts, the people. For several long moments, that was all she did. She didn't take pictures, and her eyes never stopped moving. Quinn stood a couple of feet away, just watching.

Finally, Rachel stopped spinning and her eyes landed on Quinn's. She raised her hands above her head and joyously asked, "Do you see this?" as she gestured around at the crowd and the city around them.

Quinn shook her head when Rachel's eyebrows rose in further question. "I just see _you_." Quinn's voice was quiet, but Rachel's eyes were fixated on Quinn's smooth, perfect lips. There was no way she could have missed the words that tumbled from them and seemed to pour straight into her soul, into the very fibers of her being

"I see you too, you know," she finally replied, stepping forward and bursting the bubble of Quinn's personal space into a million facets of color and light.

It seemed impossible, but suddenly Rachel was even closer than before. Quinn's breath hitched. She was back in that bathroom for a split second. They were alone, surrounded by porcelain sinks and words that weren't ready to be spoken. And now, they were in the midst of a thousand other individuals, a thousand other lives, a thousand other stories unfolding right there in the brilliance of Times Square.

When Rachel's hands softly pressed against the material of Quinn's shirt – inside her jacket and just above the tops of her jeans – Quinn shivered again. And this time, she _knew_ that Rachel felt it. Rachel was standing with her feet together and her hips pressed into Quinn, and they were so close that Quinn's only options now were to fall over backwards or to reach out with her own arms and touch the girl standing in front of her. There was no sink to lean against this time.

Somewhere along the line, Quinn's brain had made the instinctive decision to not fall over. Her hands were wrapped around Rachel's back, and she couldn't even remember it happening. But it had clearly happened, because Rachel was – again – closer. The girl with the dazzlingly bright eyes and the beautiful smile had her hands climbing up Quinn's back inside her jacket. They were resting on the warm skin just underneath Quinn's shoulder blades.

Their height difference allowed Quinn to look straight down her nose into Rachel's eyes, eyes that were looking up at Quinn through impossibly long, thick lashes.

Quinn knew with startling clarity that _**not yet**_ had officially become part of their past.

Rachel licked her lips, and Quinn felt the other girl's fingertips digging roughly – but not uncomfortably – into the flesh of her back. It was more reassuring than anything – an indication that this was real life, that this was happening. "Rach," Quinn breathed out heavily. The word was hardly even a whisper. Quinn couldn't even hear it over the traffic and the crowds surrounding them, and then it was gone, existing only for a split second before being swept away by the wind.

"Yes, Quinn," Rachel replied, not really a question – just words.

Neither was looking the other in the eye now. They were focused solely on lips and tongues and words and breaths. Quinn felt the _it_ that she had contemplated before rushing towards them, so she said the only thing she knew she was allowed to say in that moment. "Once we go there, there's no going back."

Quinn watched as Rachel nodded her head a couple of times. She moved her eyes back to Rachel's. She was searching, searching for doubt or uncertainty or fear. All Quinn saw, however, was an overwhelming sense of peace and confidence. The girl who walked into Quinn's classroom last August was not the girl standing in Quinn's arms now, not in the sense of her past brokenness or her forgotten ability to trust – trust in anyone, but mostly in herself.

"Quinn," Rachel began after what felt like both an eternity and an infinitesimally small fraction of time. "You and I both know we left that option behind a long time ago." Quinn lowered her head, pressing her forehead against Rachel's as she nodded in acquiescence and understanding, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt Rachel's warm breath on her face. "And Quinn," Rachel continued in a soothing tone that had Quinn's eyes opening once more, taking in every speck of color and every spark of intensity she suddenly found within the depths of those chocolate pools. "I don't _want_ to go back."

"Are you sure?" Quinn was the one to ask the question this time instead of the one to provide the answer. She was offering her trust, just as she had asked for Rachel's before.

Rachel nodded and the most brilliant smile Quinn had ever seen instantly blossomed across the girl's face. "I'm sure," she said. "I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life."

And then there, in Times Square with horns honking and people yelling, Quinn and Rachel's worlds faded into silence as their lips met for the first time. People passed them by as Rachel's lips slid smoothly over Quinn's. Some people wolf-whistled as Quinn tilted her head slightly to the left to achieve the perfect angle. And no one in the entire world mattered as one of Rachel's hands untangled itself from the confines of Quinn's jacket and pressed into the nape of Quinn's neck, performing the impossible feat of bringing them closer together than ever before in their coexistence.

Rachel's dark locks of hair were tossed about by the wind as her fingers splayed across warm skin. Quinn breathed in and out across her lips, tasting the sweetness of Rachel with every particle of air that she inhaled. She felt Rachel's skin against her flesh under the collar of her shirt and against her lips and underneath her hands.

The world was spinning tumbling falling. Again, Quinn found herself in that bathroom. Up became down and left became right and forwards became backwards. Right was wrong and wrong was _sinfully_ right. Quinn couldn't concentrate beyond the softness of Rachel's lips against hers.

Eventually, their lips separated by mere centimeters. Not for lack of oxygen, but because the moment had become so intense that brain functionality was being threatened.

When Quinn's eyes managed to open, they immediately sought out Rachel's. The younger girl was smiling and her pupils were dilated further than Quinn had ever seen before, but Quinn was relieved to find no trace of regret in her demeanor. Because if Rachel had regretted it, Quinn wouldn't have been able to hold it against her. And then Quinn might have burst apart, ceasing to exist.

With Quinn's arms still wrapped firmly around Rachel's waist, Rachel leaned back into Quinn's protective embrace. Her lips maintained their perfect smile while she freed her hands, bringing them between their bodies and pointing to herself.

_I_.

She then crossed her arms over her chest.

_Love._

Quinn couldn't breathe as Rachel then pressed her index finger into the fabric of Quinn's shirt, just over her heart.

_You._

And then her arms were back around Quinn. Her gaze was not expectant. She didn't assume that Quinn would say the words back. She simply pulled Quinn to her, held her, _loved_ her while Quinn's heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. Her breath finally left her in a shudder against Rachel's temple as she leaned back, mimicking Rachel's position from before with the smaller girl's strong arms the only thing keeping her ass from the sidewalk.

_I love you_, Quinn signed. And she meant it like she had never meant anything before in her life.

And then their lips met again. Somewhere, music was playing. Somewhere, people were laughing. And in the bubble of Rachel and Quinn, everything was perfect and nothing could touch them.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to everyone who stuck around through all of the glances and the touches and the almost-kisses and the unrelenting UST to get to this point. Everything is Faberry and nothing hurts. Hope you enjoyed it._


	16. Chapter 16

**The Silence of Silence**

The lights had been bright before the kiss, but when Quinn pulled away - her lips brushing delicately against the smooth skin of Rachel's cheek - they seemed somehow brighter. The sounds were more acutely resounding against her eardrums. People walking by were suddenly noticeable again. Colors were sharper, and billboards were taller and wider and more stunning. Smells that she hadn't noticed before filled her nose, and her stomach was suddenly growling.

A soft laugh fell across her parted, smiling lips. "Well then," she began, "that was quite an experience."

Rachel smiled and leaned forward, resting her head against Quinn's chest. Quinn's eyes closed as she allowed herself to relish the moment - the closeness, the simplicity, the freedom. Because this was New York City, and no one knew them here. But Lima, Ohio, was another societal entity all its own.

Quinn felt a warm puff of air against her left arm as she continued to hold Rachel firmly - safely, soundly - in her protective embrace. "It definitely was," Rachel replied.

Passersby - who, before, were little more than fleeting figures in the peripherals of their love - were now hundreds of puzzle pieces, parts of the bigger picture, shifting about while trying to find their place. Quinn and Rachel stood alone in a sea of people, two neighboring pieces of that same puzzle who had been lucky enough to find each other months ago. And moments before, they had shown just how perfectly they fit together.

Quinn allowed her cheek to press against Rachel's forehead as they swayed in place to the sounds around them. There was no discernible melody now - the various street performers and cabs and voices had become a cacophonous symphony of sound - but that didn't keep the young women from dancing to their own music, revolving slowly on the spot and hoping silently for the spell to remain unbroken.

Suddenly, Quinn's stomach growled again. Rachel pulled back, concern shining out at Quinn gloriously from her bright eyes. "You're hungry," she said. The words were simple, and they were strictly matter of fact. But Quinn's heart did that palpable, rushing, uncontrollably fierce **lub dub** against her ribcage that was often symptomatic of being near Rachel. All she could do was reach out a set of fingertips and brush them down the cool, soft skin of the other girl's cheek before pushing stray locks of dark hair back behind an ear. And then she nodded because, yes, she _was_ hungry.

Rachel pulled back slowly, and Quinn tried to ignore the drop in her stomach at the loss of contact. The smile on the other girl's lips was almost enough to make up for the fact that only their hands were touching now. "Let's go find something to eat," Rachel suggested, already turning and walking in a seemingly random direction. "We can grab takeout and then head back to the hotel."

"That sounds great," Quinn agreed.

And then they were walking. They were simply weaving through bodies and existing together on the edge of Times Square, pointing out Broadway billboards and impressive storefronts. A couple of times, Rachel pulled them to the edge of the sidewalk to drop a dollar bill into a musician's hat or to buy a cheesy tourist photograph of the Empire State Building. Eventually, they spotted a decent looking eatery. Rachel gestured towards it, and Quinn nodded encouragingly. They walked inside, and all the while, Quinn couldn't help but wonder.

Wonder about the absolute normality of their actions. Wonder about the ease with which they flowed together and apart and as one and as individuals. Wonder exactly what the man who just tipped his hat in their direction would say if he knew Rachel was Quinn's student...

"Oh, the number three looks lovely."

Quinn was shaken out of her thoughts as Rachel began perusing the menu out loud. "Hey, you haven't called your mom yet." Rachel looked in Quinn's direction, seemingly not worried in the slightest. "I don't want her to hate me. Go call her so she knows everything is ok. I'll get you the number three and meet you by the door in a few minutes."

The corners of Rachel's lips began to tilt upwards ever so slightly. "Alright, Quinn," she responded after a couple seconds of merely staring at the blonde. "I'll give her a call. Though I can assure you that she has had a very busy evening with her conference, so she's probably not worried." Quinn arched a delicately shaped eyebrow. Rachel smiled. "Yet," she added, squeezing Quinn's hand once and walking backwards and to the door.

After Quinn placed their order, she sat down at a table and waited. Her eyes automatically sought out Rachel, and she found herself staring - or, you know, that _other_ thing - at Rachel as she conversed with Shelby. Quinn loved the way Rachel spoke with her hands, gesturing all around her as she described Times Square and their hotel and their balcony view of the city to Shelby on the other end of the line, even though Shelby couldn't see her at all. Quinn loved those beautiful moments when her world would stop spinning because Rachel's laughter had reached her ears. Quinn loved the way Rachel would brush her fingers through her hair, tucking it all over her left shoulder before swiping her bangs to the right and to the left and then letting them land somewhere in the middle. Quinn loved when Rachel's eyes shifted across the room and locked with hers.

Quinn loved all of these things. Because Quinn was a woman _in_ love. And no matter how treacherous the situation had been, still was, and would become, they could face it - together.

* * *

The cool air sent a chill down Quinn's spine. Despite the increasingly late hour and the dropping temperatures, their terrace view of New York City at night was too tempting to ignore. So there they sat - with takeout boxes in their hands and thighs touching and longing glances between chocolate and hazel orbs passing between them. The trip back to the hotel had been made primarily in silence. Quinn smiled to herself as she ate, marveling at the effortlessness of the way they had moved together - from the sidewalk into the cab and back out onto the sidewalk near the hotel, Quinn holding the elevator door for Rachel when she had to stop to tie her shoe and Rachel holding the room's door open for Quinn to enter in front of her, each sitting on the couch separately but managing to meet somewhere in the middle.

"How are you feeling about tomorrow?" Quinn asked once they had both finished eating.

The Juilliard audition was something they had discussed briefly. Quinn had found herself mostly in a daze at the revelation that Rachel was applying there to begin with, but she had no lack of faith in Rachel's abilities after hearing her sing _My Man_ that afternoon in the auditorium. And when she had read Rachel's admissions essay, Quinn had known that - at the very least - Rachel would be making this trip. It would have been impossible for someone to read Rachel's words and _not_ want to meet her, impossible to _not_ want to see this unique and mesmerizing individual in person.

"I'm...excited. But nervous," Rachel replied.

Quinn nodded as she shifted down in her seat, resting her feet against the table in front of them and propping her head up against the cushion under her back. "That's understandable. It's a big moment for you." Rachel nodded and scooted forward, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her bare feet inched out, tucking themselves gently underneath Quinn's thigh. Quinn smiled and placed her hand on Rachel's ankle. The soft skin under her fingertips was intoxicating, and she was suddenly terrified of allowing the moment to become too intimate. "What all will you have to do in the interview? I'm assuming you'll have to sing for them, right?"

Rachel's eyes shifted, dragging reluctantly away from the line of Quinn's arm that led to her wrist to her hand resting against chilled skin, warming it instantly. Quinn shuddered involuntarily at the smoldering look in Rachel's eyes when their gazes finally connected. "There will be questions, probably about my goals, ambitions. That sort of thing. I'm sure they'll want to determine whether or not I really want it enough to deserve a spot in their school."

"And you do want it," Quinn stated.

Nodding, Rachel continued. "I do. Very much so. I've wanted it since I was a little girl. The opportunity to learn from the best, to network with the best, to _be_ the best I can possibly be... To hopefully - maybe, someday - end up on Broadway... I don't question whether or not I'll be able to convince them that I need Juilliard. I think it's more important that I convince them that _Juilliard_ needs _me_."

Quinn smiled at that. She didn't reply, but she rubbed soothing circles against the bone of Rachel's ankle, dipping her thumb lower and brushing against the sensitive skin of Rachel's heel. The other girl smiled, and Quinn felt light.

"I will have to sing as well, though, you're right about that."

"Anything in particular?"

"Yes," Rachel responded. "There are a couple of pieces that I had to prepare that are standard for all those who audition. But they also ask that you prepare something on your own. Something to showcase who you are - or, really, to showcase who you're capable of being, if that makes sense."

Humming softly under her breath, Quinn nodded. Her eyes flicked from Rachel's eyes down to her tongue as it swiped across her top lip. "So you've chosen another song to sing?"

Rachel chuckled. "Well, that's the problem. I have too many songs in my repertoire. I haven't officially decided what I'm going to sing."

Quinn blinked. "But your audition is tomorrow morning." _And you've only been singing again for a few months,_ she mentally added. _Then again,_ Quinn gently reminded herself, _I've seen just how dedicated she's capable of allowing herself to be. It's more than possible that she has dozens of songs to choose from already._

"Right," Rachel agreed, nodding her head once more. "I could always go the Broadway route. _Without him, the world around me changes - the trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers!_" Rachel sang out. Quinn couldn't help but smile like a total fan. "Or even _I gotta fly once - I gotta try once - only can die once - right, sir?_"

They chuckled together, but Quinn felt it would be too forward of her to say exactly what it was Rachel's nonchalant outbursts of song were doing to her heart.

"But then again, Broadway will be something they expect," Rachel said quietly, her voice soft and her persona completely different from when she was singing. "I could always sing pop hits. Like _When I'm not with you, I lose my mind - give me a sign - hit me, baby, one more time._ Or even something like _When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell_ would probably help break up the monotony of the judges' day." Quinn's jaw was beginning to hang dangerously low at this point.

"But they may not appreciate the profanity..." Rachel trailed off, tilting her head contemplatively to the side as she considered her own words. "Maybe _Who do you think you are? Runnin' round leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts and tearing love apart_."

Quinn's jaw was now practically unhinged.

"Love songs are always a viable option," Rachel continued. "Perhaps _Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again_." Quinn couldn't help it when she blushed. "Or an unrequited love song? _I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but I couldn't stay away - I couldn't fight it._.. No," she interrupted herself, "too sad."

Though Quinn's mouth was hanging open, she didn't speak. It was another one of those moments - one where the slightest wrong move could shatter the spell. She didn't want Rachel to stop singing tonight - if at all possible, she didn't want her to stop singing _ever_.

"How about _If I could, baby, I'd give you my world - open up, everything's waiting for you_?" Her eyebrows rose, and Quinn realized this was her cue.

Nodding, she cleared her throat in order to be able to properly answer without a squeak in her voice. "Yeah, Fleetwood Mac would be a safe bet. They're sure to know it, at least."

Rachel tilted her head. "Safe is a nice place to be sometimes, but I'm not feeling particularly keen on being safe." She winked at Quinn, and Quinn responded with a light squeeze to Rachel's ankle, shifting in her seat and allowing her leg to rest flush against Rachel's. "I could always do a little _Baby, you're a firework!_"

"Whatever you do," Quinn said into the minimal space that was separating them, "I know you'll be amazing."

The faint echo of cars honking and doors slamming, people shouting and a lone saxophonist playing on the street below carried up to their spot on the sixteenth floor. They were silent for awhile - basking in their togetherness, each trying not to think about how it would feel to leave the city behind.

"I really want to kiss you right now." Quinn almost bit her tongue, momentarily appalled at herself for being so blunt, so needy.

Rachel just smiled, and her gaze was so piercing and sexy that Quinn wasn't sure she could handle the single bed in the next room. "Then why don't you?" Rachel questioned.

They had come a long way in just a few hours.

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek and turned her head, looking out at the night sky. "Being here, alone... It's different from being out there. It was safe, kissing in the middle of Times Square."

"Why?"

"Because it kept me from doing more than just kissing you," Quinn replied, turning her head back to Rachel and trying to convey through her stare exactly how much she wanted the girl sitting next to her - but also exactly how imperative it was that they not cross that line yet.

Rachel held Quinn's gaze for a few seconds before dropping it, moving both of her hands to pick up Quinn's that had been touching her exposed skin. She brought Quinn's hand to her lips, her eyes closing as she reverently kissed each finger before turning it over and softly kissing Quinn's palm. Finally, she pressed her face into Quinn's hand, holding it in place with her own. "I understand," she replied. "I promise that I understand."

Quinn nodded. "Then you know that...that we have to wait." Again, she sought out Rachel's eyes - willing Rachel to understand through her gaze alone that she didn't _want_ to wait, but that they _needed _to wait.

The hand that Rachel wasn't using to hold Quinn's in place traced patterns up and down the inside of Quinn's forearm. Goosebumps blossomed in the wake of her digits. "One hundred and eleven," Rachel said. Her words were soft, quiet, and Quinn almost missed them.

"...What?"

"One hundred and eleven," Rachel repeated.

Quinn smiled softly. "Right, but one hundred and eleven _what_, exactly?"

"One hundred and eleven days."

Quinn's brow furrowed as she tried to put one and one together, but her math wasn't adding up. "Until...?"

"One hundred and eleven days until I graduate. Until you and I can be together the way we both want to be together." Realization dawned suddenly on Quinn, and she immediately recognized the challenge the next one hundred and eleven days would hold for both of them. "But that doesn't mean that you can't give me a kiss good night."

And then Quinn was leaning forward without further hesitation, softly brushing her lips against Rachel's. She might have sighed, or maybe it was Rachel - it was probably both of them, actually. Satiny skin melded deliciously together, and Quinn knew that this experience must bear resemblance to heaven.

Pulling away before either was allowed the opportunity to lose themselves, Quinn said, "Let's head to bed. It's getting late." Her whispered words caressed Rachel's lips, and the brunette's eyes fluttered shut in response. Quinn had to breathe deeply to keep herself from leaning forward and reattaching herself to Rachel. The moment was hot and heavy and the cold New York City night was doing little to help alleviate their feelings of pure, unadulterated arousal.

Eventually, they managed to stand and walk inside, hand in hand. Rachel headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and Quinn was left standing next to her suitcase and staring.

Staring at that damn king size bed in all of its white, innocent glory.

Quinn sighed and muttered to herself, "It's going to be a long night..."

After Quinn brushed her teeth and changed into comfortable clothes for bed, she exited the bathroom and stepped around the corner. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Rachel sitting up in bed - an oversized sweater hanging off of one shoulder and miniscule sleep shorts covering practically no thigh whatsoever. Quinn gulped at the realization that there was definitely nothing underneath Rachel's sweatshirt. She crossed her arms over her own braless chest and moved to the bed.

Rachel looked up as Quinn approached. "Hi," she said.

"Hi." Quinn's voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

Rachel turned back to the television. She had been flipping through channels, but finally paused with a content smile on her face. Two beautiful women were onscreen, and they were laying next to each other in bed. One was blonde and one was brunette. Quinn watched curiously as the scene played out in front of her.

A few minutes in, Quinn shook her head slightly before saying, "Are they..."

The unasked question was not lost on Rachel. "Rizzoli and Isles?" she asked, not taking her eyes off of the screen. Quinn nodded, and Rachel saw the movement in her peripheral vision. "Together?"

"Yeah..."

Rachel giggled. "I'm not sure," she replied with the slightest of smirks on her lips, "but it sure looks that way, doesn't it?" Quinn reached for the remote between them and quickly shut the television off. "Hey, I really like that episode!" Rachel protested.

Quinn rolled her eyes playfully as she pulled the comforter up to cover her waist. "The last thing we need in this hotel room is two more women radiating sexual tension, Rach."

Rachel settled down in bed next to Quinn, laying on her side with her right arm up underneath the pillow that was beneath her head. Quinn turned, smiling briefly at Rachel before reaching over and turning off the bedside light. Darkness engulfed them.

Before any sense of awkwardness could descend upon them, Quinn's cell phone began to ring from the table next to the bed, illuminating part of the room. She reached over and picked it up, accepting the call from Santana and wondering what the hell she needed at eleven o'clock at night.

"Hello?" Quinn questioned, mouthing a quick '_Sorry_' in Rachel's direction. The light from the phone shone just faintly enough that Quinn saw Rachel shake her head in response, a hint of a smile forming on her lips. When Quinn realized that Santana hadn't answered her, Quinn tried again. "Santana? _Hello?_" But still, no response.

And then, Quinn heard it.

"Oh god," she muttered, covering her eyes with her hands - as if that could possibly spare her from the already forming mental image.

"What?" Rachel questioned, mistaking Quinn's tone for one of panic - though, it sort of _was_. "Quinn, what's wrong?"

"I can't even..." Quinn trailed off, shaking her head and holding the phone away from her face.

Boldly, Rachel reached out and took the phone from her. Holding it to her ear, a look of confusion washed across her features. "What the..." And then, as if a light switch had suddenly been flipped into the on position, Rachel began to giggle. "Awesome," she finally said.

Her words shook Quinn out of her mortified stupor long enough for her to reach across the expanse of the bed and grab the phone from Rachel's grasp, ending the call and attempting to end her own awkwardness - and sexual frustration.

Because Santana had accidentally dialed Quinn. And hearing her having sex with her new girlfriend, Brittany, was _not_ Quinn's ideal solution to lessening the sexual tension in the room.

Again, darkness. Again, silence. Again, Quinn wanted to reach out, to roll over, to edge closer to Rachel. But she resisted, despite the magnitude of the pull she was feeling towards the other girl.

"It's eleven eleven," Rachel whispered into the darkness, into the silence.

Quinn tilted her head towards the bedside table and the clock that was lightly projecting its numbers. "It is," she replied, her voice also in a near-whisper.

"Did you make a wish?" Rachel questioned.

Quinn was staring up into the blackness in the direction of the ceiling. She closed her eyes as she made her wish. _I wish for Rachel's dreams to come true_. Out loud, she said, "Yeah. You?"

Rachel's sigh was soft and sweet, and Quinn's fingertips ached to move closer to her. "Do you think making more than one wish negates them all?"

"I'm not sure," Quinn replied. "Why?"

Another sigh. "Because I want everything too much."

The sound of Rachel's voice - the look Quinn could picture on her face, even in the dark - was so enamoring that Quinn found herself having to hold her breath and count to three. She couldn't let herself reach out, touch, feel.

They lapsed into silence again, and Quinn felt the bed shift as Rachel moved closer. "This can work," she said.

Her voice came from a mere two feet or so to Quinn's left, and Quinn squeezed her eyes shut. "I agree, Rachel. But it's not going to be easy."

It was so quiet that Quinn heard when Rachel licked her lips, when her hand moved across the fabric of the pillow. "We met somewhere... Somewhere between sound and silence. It was a place where it was just you, and it was just me. Just us. We fell in love together, but apart. And all of this, it only serves to make us _stronger._ Don't you think that will be enough for the people around us?"

Quinn was moved by Rachel's words. _Somewhere between sound and silence_. But she wasted no time in replying. "No, Rach, it won't be enough for them." And the sad part was that Quinn knew she was right even as the words crossed her lips. It wouldn't be enough for others. Shelby? Will? The other faculty at Haverbrook? Rachel's classmates?

Rachel's next words interrupted her thoughts. "Then let it be enough for us. Can't it just be enough for us?" The fitted sheet on the bed crinkled slightly between them as Rachel's hand fisted it in her grasp.

Quinn tilted her head towards Rachel and reached out with her hand. Her fingertips brushed against Rachel's, and she felt Rachel's muscles unclench as she released her hold on the sheets, opting instead to lift her index finger and trace it gently along Quinn's palm. "It's always been enough for us," Quinn whispered fiercely, reassuringly. "It's been enough for us since before we even knew what we needed."

No more words were said, and they fell asleep with their fingers delicately touching in the space between their bodies. It was a far cry from their intimate embrace in Times Square, but something about it felt even more intense than anything they had previously shared with each other. Alone, in the silence - with nothing between them but the whispering of blankets. And before long, even that faded away into nothingness.

* * *

_A/N: Ahhh...Faberry..._

_Hope you enjoyed this chapter! _

_Also, I started one of those tumblr things (I couldn't resist any longer). It's on my profile here if you're interested. Mainly, I use it to stare at all the Faberrittana pretty the internet has to offer._


	17. Chapter 17

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn awoke to the simultaneously thrilling and terrifying sensation of falling. Her muscles spasmed uncomfortably as her body woke up, returning from the brink of a world full of dreams. The heater hummed softly overhead, and Quinn felt her body begin to relax in the relative quiet of the room. When it kicked off, complete silence descended upon her and she could hear nothing at all.

The moon was high in the sky and its rays peeked in through the drapes. At some point during the night, Quinn had kicked off her blankets. Her legs were cold, but she refused to move and cover them. Because something soft and warm and comforting was pressing into her arm.

She tilted her head to the left, and she saw Rachel's hand pressing against her forearm. The brunette's body was angled away from her, but she still maintained a light grasp on Quinn in the dark. The faint light allowed Quinn to take in the brunette locks strewn across the pillow, the strong profile illuminated sparsely in the night, the steady, comforting rise and fall of the girl's chest.

Quinn rolled over onto her side, careful not to disturb Rachel's grasp. The moment was suddenly shocking in its surrealism. Was Quinn really here? Was Rachel Berry in the same bed as her? Was this the same student who had walked into Quinn's life seven months ago? Had they truly spoken of their love for each other?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

And yes.

It was real. It was happening. And as Quinn watched the rise and fall of Rachel's chest, a sign of life within her body, her heart didn't just pound in her chest - it soared to heights that she had never before even dared to imagine. All of the _wrong_ about the situation couldn't touch them within these four walls. All of the impossibilities that they faced in the future couldn't hold them down. It was dangerous - it had _always _been dangerous. And Quinn knew the risks they were taking - for her career and for Rachel's. Quinn knew that she had only begun to _glimpse_ the edges of Rachel's potential, and the girl was going to be a star. She would never let herself hold Rachel back from that.

Quinn closed her eyes and hoped for sleep. Sleep would help keep her hands on _her_ side of the bed. Sleep would keep her thoughts about the girl next to her - concerning her soft, bare skin and kissable lips - inside her mind. Sleep would keep her brain from instructing her arms to wrap around that slender waist.

But sleep also brought dreams, and that was something Quinn wasn't sure she could handle right then either.

Her eyes slowly opened, and she felt the oddest sense of relief to see Rachel again. To see her, just as she had left her before her eyes had slipped shut. To know that, should she close her eyes again and drift off to sleep, Rachel would still be there when she woke up.

As she continued to blink sleepily into the darkness, content merely to stare at - _to observe_ - Rachel for the time being, Quinn felt utterly, superbly at peace.

Suddenly, the softest of whimpers escaped Rachel's lips. Quinn wasn't even sure if her imagination had conjured it up or if it had really happened. Her body became alive, all traces of sleepiness dissipating into the still air of their hotel room. As she watched, Rachel's body began to quiver. The whimpers were more pronounced. Rachel's head shifted and was facing Quinn directly, and Quinn noted that her eyebrows were furrowed. After a few moments, Rachel's body stilled again, but Quinn kept a close eye on her facial features and a tight grip on Rachel's hand. Quinn wasn't sure when she had placed her hand over the other girl's - all she knew was how right it felt.

* * *

_Rachel was running, but she didn't understand the why or where to of it all. She just heard the pavement under her feet and the rush of a vacuum pressing against her eardrums. She could barely breathe as she rushed forward into the night._

_She was running down the bright, double yellow lines of a highway. There were thick, impenetrable rows of trees to her left and to her right. The sun was sinking lower and lower by the second. And then it was suddenly suspended in the air, on the horizon at the end of the endless stretch of road. She kept running and running and running, but she never got closer. It was bright orange, and its light permeated everything around her. The ground at her feet was tinged with its last setting rays. The leaves on the trees blew roughly in a wind that Rachel could not feel against her cheeks._

_The sky was cloudless and orange and peaceful - despite Rachel's racing heart. But she blinked. Once, twice. And looming black clouds were suddenly consuming her vision where previously there had been nothing at all. The heavens opened up from above and let loose their fury in waves upon waves of rain. Lightning cracked viciously across the sky, and the thunder rolled menacingly in its wake._

_Rachel kept running. She had to. She couldn't stop. If she stopped, everything would be as of nothing. She didn't know why or how. But she was terrified to find out the answers. So her feet pumped methodically underneath her. Her legs burned, and tears were streaming down her face. The saltiness mixed with the rain water, diluting almost entirely before reaching her gasping lips._

_And when shapes in the distance began to take form, Rachel knew exactly where it was she was running. It wasn't new. She should have expected it. But dreams were confusing. And this one contained images that she tried to repress on a daily basis._

_Her pace picked up, a feat that she had before thought to be impossible. Her heart threatened to explode in the very cavity of her chest, leaving her a crumpled mess of emptiness on the road to nowhere, to everywhere - to the beginning, to the end._

_Finally, Rachel allowed her footfalls to stop. Fifty yards away stood the smashed Lexus that her fathers drove. The truck that Rachel knew they had run into on her birthday was nowhere to be seen, but this wasn't real life._

_This wasn't real life. This wasn't real life. This wasn't real life._

_The rain continued to pour down Rachel's face. She reached up and wiped at her eyes, but a thousand more drops of rain flowed down her forehead and into her lashes again. She took a steely breath before moving forward._

_The car was angled to the side as she approached. Steam was coming out from under the hood, instigated by the rain hitting the hot engine underneath. Rachel approached the back driver's side door. She pressed her face against the window._

_A tiny Rachel Berry was slumped forward in her seat, suspended only by the seatbelt that was buckled across her chest. Rachel pressed her fingertips against the cold glass of the window. Her body was now heaving with repressed sobs - sadness for the tiny girl in the seat and the demons she would face, the obstacles she would have to overcome. The loneliness, the fragility, the desperation._

_Rachel pulled away from Rachel. Her back was straight, and her head was bowed. Her fingers trailed down the window and the side of the car to press against her thigh. She touched the hem of her shorts. They were soaked through with water. She should have been warm from running. The air was stifling. But her body began to shake from the cold that seemed to come from inside of her._

_She turned and moved forward to stare into the driver's seat. Her daddy's head was limp against the headrest behind him. Rachel loved her daddy even now, with thoughts of him swirling in her mind as if they had happened just yesterday - of his depression, when he finally gave up, finding him in that chair with the empty pill bottle underneath his cold, dead fingers._

_Rachel pulled back more quickly from the window this time._

_She turned to look out into the night. Because the sun - previously suspended in the air - had dropped entirely below the horizon now. An eerie light pervaded the darkness around Rachel, but she couldn't see beyond it. She walked forward, around the front of the car. Her heart had struggled under the pressure brought upon it by the physical exertion of running at breakneck speeds, but now, it beat faster than ever before. She took another step, and she knew her dad should be here. Just, here. Lying in the cold, wet dark. Rachel turned her head to the side, and she took in the broken glass of the windshield - the hole big enough for a grown man. Turning back to the pavement, she saw nothing._

_Where was he? Where had he gone? Who had taken him?_

_She stepped through crunching, broken glass. She hadn't realized it before, but her feet were bare and exposed to the harsh conditions of the wreckage. She looked down, and the rain rushing past her toes and into the darkness was stained red with her blood._

_Approaching the passenger side door, Rachel ignored the pain in her feet. She stood on her tiptoes and reached inside the gaping hole in the windshield. Her fingers clutched the smooth, worn leather of one of her dad's favorite shoes. It was the left shoe..._

_She clutched it in her hands, she pressed it against her cheek, she ran her fingers over the sole. The steps he had taken in this shoe. The things he had done, the people he had seen. His last moments._

_Lightning lit up the night sky, a thunderous roar following immediately in its wake. Rachel's head snapped to her right, down to the ground. The right shoe was there. And Rachel knew that all it would take was a few steps forward, and she would see him. She would get that last glance that she never had before. To see his face one last time..._

_But would a memory be tarnished? She looked back down at the shoe in her hands. This was how she had always remembered him. That smiling face turning back to her, buckling her in. The shoe on the dashboard. The pounding of rain against the roof of the car._

_She looked back to the road and took a step forward. And suddenly, the voice of a ten-year old Rachel Berry was screaming out her name. "Rachel, don't!" And all Rachel could see was the rain pouring down around her and the wreckage of her life with her fathers spread out across the road. She fell to her elbows and knees, and glass broke the skin. And she cried and she cried and she cried as she stared at the shoe in her hands._

* * *

"Rachel," Quinn whispered fervently down at the girl who was openly sobbing in her sleep. "Rach, please. Wake up." She all but shook her, panic beginning to overtake her body when she couldn't elicit a waking response in the other girl. On her knees in the dark, Quinn hovered over Rachel's shivering body. She ran her hands up and down Rachel's arms, trying to suffuse warmth from herself to the dreaming girl beneath her.

Abruptly, Rachel's whimpers faded into the quiet stillness of the room. But as Quinn looked down into the terrified face lit softly by the moonlight, her heart broke unwillingly in her chest. "Rachel," she whispered once more.

"Quinn," Rachel gasped. Her cheeks were wet with tears as Quinn allowed her hands to reach up and cup them softly.

"It's ok, Rach. It was just a dream."

Rachel blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, finally landing on the shining eyes in front of her. "A nightmare," she corrected.

Quinn laid down on the bed again, opening her arms and pulling Rachel into her. Personal space and boundaries were of little consequence in these moments when Rachel was frightened and seeking comfort. She curled herself into Quinn's side, and Quinn couldn't help but inhale deeply the scent of Rachel's shampoo. "Do you want to talk about it?" It was the first thought Quinn had. These were the words her mother would speak to her each time she would wake from a nightmare in her childhood.

"No," Rachel murmured out against Quinn's neck. Her hands clutched tightly at the material of Quinn's sleep shirt, just below her breasts. "I just want to forget." Silence engulfed them in its protective embrace, wrapping around their bodies and comforting them as much as silence ever could. A few minutes passed by, and Rachel spoke once more as Quinn's lips delicately pressed against her forehead and her fingers lovingly traced the skin of her arm. "I've been trying to forget for so long..."

"Fall asleep with me, Rachel." Quinn felt Rachel nod softly against her shoulder. Quinn waited until she heard Rachel's breaths become deep and even before she again cupped the girl's cheek and whispered into the silence, "I wish you only the sweetest of dreams..."

* * *

The sound of water beating against the wall behind her woke Quinn. Sunlight was just beginning to stream into the room, and she immediately realized that she was alone in the vast expanse of the king size bed. It soon became apparent that Rachel was showering in the bathroom.

And that thought alone was enough to have Quinn wide awake.

She stretched her arms above her head and rolled over and back to her original side of the bed. She grabbed her phone and noted the time. Rachel's audition was at eleven o'clock that morning, but it was only just seven o'clock now. They would have plenty of time for breakfast and the short taxi ride to Juilliard.

Quinn got up and gathered the things she would need for her shower from her suitcase. She placed them on the edge of the bed before sitting next to them with her legs crossed underneath her and turning the television on. The news floated softly across the airwaves to Quinn's ears, and she waited.

When the shower turned off, Quinn hopped up and started the coffee maker. She realized that she didn't know how Rachel liked her coffee, but she was determined to find out. A few moments later, Rachel walked out of the bathroom with nothing more than a towel wrapped around her chest and another one in her hands, rubbing her hair dry.

"Good morning," she said quietly, and Quinn detected a hint of bashfulness in her voice.

The last thing Quinn wanted was for Rachel to shut down or close her out because of the nightmare she had had the night before. As Rachel passed in front of her on the bed, Quinn reached out and wrapped her fingers around the other girl's elbow, pulling her closer. Rachel's eyes glinted with _something_ as she was suddenly standing directly in front of Quinn, looking down into her eyes. "Good morning," Quinn replied, bringing her hand down the length of Rachel's arm to rest on the back of her hand. "How do you take your coffee?"

Rachel smiled and stepped coyly out of Quinn's reach. "Two sugars," she said as she turned and grabbed her clothes from the back of the desk chair and hurried back into the bathroom.

Quinn was just glad to see a smile on her face.

* * *

Breakfast had been a quiet affair. They had walked along the street near their hotel and found a corner cafe that was serving fresh pastries. Rachel had ordered hot tea with honey '_for her vocal cords_', of course, and Quinn had ordered green tea. The crowds around them hadn't stopped them from sitting next to each other at the table, Rachel's hand reaching out and sporadically resting against Quinn's knee from time to time. Quinn leaned back in her chair and took in the magnificence of Rachel Berry sitting next to her. She had been witness to the girl's transformation over the past couple of months, and she felt privileged in that sense - more than she could probably ever express with the inadequacy of words.

During the ten minute taxi ride up the road to the school, Rachel had performed vocal exercises. The driver had eyed her curiously in the rearview mirror, and Quinn had done little more than smile in his direction. When they climbed out of the cab, Quinn leaned in the front window to pay him. "Her name is Rachel Berry," she said. "Today, she's auditioning at Juilliard. Just remember her name, because she'll be a star in a few years."

Quinn turned away from the cab and stepped onto the curb, coming face to face with Rachel. The brunette stared up at Quinn with a questioning look in her gaze. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yeah, Rach. I really do believe that." Quinn smiled down at her and wrapped the girl up in her arms. "Are you ready for this?"

Rachel sighed against Quinn's collarbone. "I guess I better be, right?"

With Rachel's arm around Quinn's waist and Quinn's arm over Rachel's shoulders, they walked into the impressive building in front of them. And Quinn couldn't help but think that Juilliard better be ready for Rachel Berry, because Rachel Berry had finally arrived.

* * *

An hour later, and they were still waiting outside one of the sound-proofed audition rooms. There were at least a dozen students sitting outside when Rachel had been directed to take a seat. The original people occupying the room were dwindling steadily away as new people were constantly filling in their vacated seats. Rachel's turn would most likely come soon.

Quinn leaned back in her seat and fingered the pages of her book. Her eyes shifted to the young woman next to her. Rachel was flipping through her music folder which contained pages upon pages of laminated sheet music. Even just by glancing at occasional song titles, Quinn was impressed once more by Rachel's musical range. Because Quinn didn't doubt for a second that Rachel had perfected every one of the songs in her lap.

"Rachel Berry," a voice called out.

Rachel's head snapped up towards the door where someone was holding a clipboard. "Right here," she called out softly. The room monitor crooked their finger in her direction, indicating for her to follow.

Her head turned towards Quinn. "Break a leg," Quinn whispered, giving Rachel's shoulder a reassuring rub.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered.

Just before Rachel disappeared behind the door, she turned in Quinn's direction. Quinn held her hand up in the symbol for '_I love you_', and Rachel smiled quickly, returning the gesture.

And then she was gone.

* * *

When Rachel stepped into the room, she immediately took note of the piano player sitting on the other side of the room - his beard and glasses and reddish brown hair - before shifting around to land on the table of judges. There were four of them, and each one looked even more bored than the judge previous.

"Good morning," Rachel said with a soft smile gracing her lips.

One of the women raised her head. "Good morning," she replied. "And your name?"

"Rachel," she replied. "Rachel Berry."

"Great. Well, Rachel, here's how we're going to do this. Before you sing the required pieces and answer a few questions for us, we'd like to hear you sing something of your own choice." Rachel nodded. "So Rachel, what will you be singing for us today?"

Rachel stepped briskly across the marble floor, the heels of her shoes resounding pleasantly in the air. _Great acoustics_, she thought to herself as she approached the judges' table.

"Actually," Rachel said, "I haven't chosen anything to sing for you."

A moment of silence passed through the room as the judges appeared utterly stupefied. A different judge from the one who had instructed Rachel previously spoke up, the slightest of sneers in his voice. "Oh, _really?_"

Rachel nodded, and another judge spoke in turn. Her tone, however, didn't sound disdainful - she sounded more curious than anything else. "What do you mean, Rachel?"

A brilliant Rachel Berry smile spread fully across her face. _They're already remembering my name,_ she thought. _Time to seal the deal._ She placed her binder of music on the table and opened it in front of them. She gestured to the _dozens_ of songs within its confines and simply answered, "Judges' choice."

* * *

Quinn tried not to get nervous as she checked the time on her phone - not for the first or the fifth time in the past half hour. The students before Rachel had taken no longer than fifteen to twenty minutes each. Rachel was currently pushing close to a full hour inside the audition room. Quinn wished very much that she could hear what was going on, that she could be a fly on the wall, that she could witness the stunned, awed faces of the judges when Rachel blew them away with her powerful voice.

There was little doubt in Quinn's mind that Rachel would make her dreams come true. Her first goal, Quinn knew, had been to receive an invitation to interview. And here she was, doing just that. But when Quinn thought back to her readings of Rachel's admissions essay, she knew that it had never been a question as to whether or not Juilliard would want to learn more about Rachel Berry...

* * *

_**Rachel Berry  
Juilliard Admissions Essay**_

_On the day of my tenth birthday, tragedy befell my family. Something inside of me broke apart into a million tiny shards of hopelessness, and it took me over eight years to begin sorting myself back out. During those eight years, I was completely silent. No words, no lyrics, no music. Nothing crossed my lips, and I allowed my silence to be my closest companion._

_During my self-imposed period of emotional isolation and reticence, the world failed to captivate me on a daily basis. Colors were dull, sounds were harsh, voices were always too powerful and overbearing. And always, I was surrounded by my guilt. Unfortunately, it is nearly impossible to heal when your only camaraderie comes to you in the forms of guilt and silence._

_While a part of me still struggles with the ever-present contrition of knowing that I continue to live and breathe while others near and dear to my heart are not so lucky, another part of me realizes that my choice to no longer speak or sing was crushing whatever spirit I had managed to hold onto from my childhood. Who was benefiting from my silence? Certainly not me. Who was holding me responsible for the supposed sins that I was sure I had committed in my youth? Turns out, no one. Why not allow myself to again experience the joy and euphoria singing brought into my life once upon a time? So I opened my mouth, and I sang once more._

_My journey has not been an easy one, but I have learned the most valuable lesson that I may possibly ever discover in this lifetime: The biggest obstacle I have ever or will ever be forced to overcome is nothing more and nothing less than __**myself**__. Nothing can ever change the circumstances that led to my silence, and I can never take back the eight years in which I merely existed. But now that I have chosen to __**live **__instead of to __**exist**__, the world lays itself down at my feet. Nothing is impossible, nothing is too far out of reach. By conquering my own fears and desolation, I have given myself the greatest gift in the world: The gift of hope._

_The recording that is enclosed with this application isn't merely to convince you that I am worth listening to - the recording is to prove to myself that I am bigger than even my own wildest dreams. And because I have finally allowed myself to sing once more, I have no doubts that those dreams are closer than ever to becoming my reality._

* * *

Quinn was staring off into space, remembering the brevity of Rachel's essay but the magnitude of emotion it had conveyed in its simplicity.

She almost didn't notice when Rachel stepped out of the audition room. She was halfway across the room to Quinn before Quinn even realized it. Quinn stood suddenly with a myriad of questions on her lips.

"Hi," Rachel breathily interrupted before Quinn could say anything at all.

"Hi," Quinn chuckled. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she inexplicably felt an enormous rush at seeing Rachel again. "Are you going to make me guess?" she asked eagerly. Rachel just smirked. "How did it go?"

Rachel smiled and bowed her head, looking down at her shoes. "Well, I don't know yet, obviously." She looked back up at Quinn through her eyelashes - that look that she did _so _well. "But I think it went really, _really_ well."

Quinn pulled the girl into a hug and laughed happily against her hair. "That's great, Rach. I knew you would be amazing." She pulled back, and they began to walk out of the audition area and to the front of the building, shoulder to shoulder. "How about, in celebration, we go see a Broadway show?"

Once more, Quinn found the smile that spread across Rachel's face and the laughter that bubbled forth deliciously from her lips to be enough to make every trial and tribulation they could possibly face tolerable. In fact, Quinn hadn't been challenged in a long time. And while she realized that it wasn't necessarily wise to welcome adversity, she found her pulse racing with the thrill of the unknown.

* * *

_A/N: Jesus, am I dragging NYC out or what? I'm hoping to wrap their trip up in no more than two chapters. But honestly, I'm a little intimidated about what it will be like to send them back to Lima after having them exist so wonderfully in this little Faberry bubble of happiness. Alas!_

_And, holy guacamole. I've updated five stories in four days. Not sure when I will next be in such an insane writing mood, but I'm going to try and finish at least one story (preferably two or three or four) before I start school again in September._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!_


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Holy hell, you crazy Faberry lovin' bitches - almost 1000 reviews? I feel like you're all reading the wrong story or something. Winks._

_BUT IN ALL SERIOUSNESS - thank you for being amazing and giving this alternate universe a chance from the very beginning._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter and what is left of New York City - for now, that is._

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn stood in front of the mirror in their hotel bathroom. The lip of the sink was pressing into her hip as she leaned forward, delicately inserting her earrings into her lobes. They had been a gift from her mother - once upon another lifetime, it seemed. Because everything outside of the past twenty-four hours felt surreal, like part of another person's existence. She was an actress, working through the scenes with her beautiful brunette counterpart. The takes would be flawless, the film would wrap, and they would be shoved back into their gloriously uneventful lives.

A light knock on the door echoed in the still space of the bathroom. "Quinn?" a tentative voice called out from the other side. "Almost ready?"

But no - this was Quinn's life, not a movie set. And she smiled at the thought - because it felt right, and she could.

"Yeah Rach, just a second."

Leaning back, Quinn took in her figure. She was glad that she had packed her favorite little black dress. It looked good on her, and she knew it. Though her own opinion mattered far less to her than Rachel's inevitably would. Her long, toned legs looked fierce with her modest heels, and her hair looked effortless in that sexy way where she truly didn't put much effort into it at all. She had been told before that her beauty was natural, so working that to her advantage was really the only logical thing to do.

Her hands moved down the front of her dress, pushing across the smooth, black material and easing away non-existent creases. Attempting to sooth nerves and calm the butterflies flittering around her stomach, Quinn took one deep breath - _in, out_ - before turning to open the door.

And when she pulled back the door to see Rachel with her arms crossed in front of her and the fingertips of one hand resting against her lips, Quinn had to exercise self-control like never before in her life. Because Rachel looked absurdly gorgeous in a stunning, yellow dress that fell to just around her knees. Her hair was down in flowing, dark locks. Her makeup was simple yet alluring, and Quinn was falling harder than ever. Rachel was the picture of innocence and perfection, and Quinn's thoughts were _anything_ but innocent in that moment.

"_Let's forgo dinner and Broadway. Let's just stay here. Your dress is beautiful and you look like an angel, but I would like it even better if it were on the floor - preferably within the next five seconds._" These were Quinn's unspoken thoughts as she stared unblinkingly at Rachel from her position still inside the bathroom. The other girl's eyes shifted to her face, and Quinn was certain that she was taking in Quinn's dropped jaw and stunned expression.

Rachel, ever the poised one in this working relationship, gracefully stepped forward. She placed a hand on Quinn's cheek before leaning up on her toes - though with her killer heels, she didn't have to lean too far - and kissing Quinn lightly on the lips.

Three seconds, at the most - Quinn was sure of it. That was how long Rachel kissed her there in the doorway. But their time together in New York City had Quinn appreciating every second as if it would only come once in their entire lifetime. So maybe it was only a peck on the lips, and maybe it was only three seconds of skin touching skin and breaths mingling tastefully and body heat radiating into the other's personal space - but it was another memory that Quinn subconsciously knew she would never lose.

Rachel pressed her body against Quinn's as their lips broke apart, twisting them around to the side and then pushing Quinn forward - and out of the bathroom. "If you'll excuse me..." Rachel trailed off coyly as she closed the door softly in Quinn's face.

Turning to the mirror on the other side of the room, Quinn took in her slightly glazed over eyes and her dopey expression. "Yeah," Quinn muttered to herself, "you've got it bad, Fabray."

"What was that?" Rachel called from the other side of the door.

"Nothing!" Quinn was quick to reassure as she moved across the floor to grab her clutch. _It's going to be a long evening_, she thought to herself as Rachel stepped out of the bathroom and they made their way out of the room. But a smile was on her face, and things felt _right_.

Stepping into the empty space of the elevator, Quinn pressed the button for the lobby before leaning against the back wall. When Rachel slipped into the space next to her, pressing against her side and lacing their fingers together, Quinn thought her heart might just be capable of leaping right out of her chest. And when the older couple who had checked into the hotel just ahead of Quinn the night before climbed into the elevator on the twelfth floor, Rachel didn't pull away. She simply gave them a charming smile and uttered a soft "_Hello._"

The man tipped his hat in Rachel's direction. "Good evening."

A few short minutes later, Quinn and Rachel were situated in the back of a cab.

"Where to, ladies?"

Rachel glanced curiously over at Quinn with raised eyebrows, clearly indicating that she was also wondering about their destination.

"Do you like Italian food?" Quinn asked quietly in response to Rachel's unspoken question.

Rachel nodded. "I do."

Turning to the cabbie, Quinn asked, "Do you like Italian food, sir?"

"Do I like Italian food?" the driver asked, strong New York accent firmly in place. "Are you kiddin' me? I _love _Italian food!"

Rachel giggled, and Quinn turned slightly to the side, smiling against the other girl's temple before replying, "Great. Would you mind taking us to your favorite Italian restaurant in the city?"

"Oh, no problem, ma'am. And I'll get you there quicker than you can give three winks!"

They pulled away from their hotel, and Quinn turned to look down into Rachel's eyes. Cheekily, she winked three times in quick succession, causing Rachel to valiantly attempt to muffle her subsequent laughter with both of her hands.

Quinn took pause as she stared at this girl sitting next to her - this girl who was something else entirely, different from anything Quinn had ever experienced or anyone she had ever known before in her life. They had put labels aside for the weekend, and Quinn wasn't sure that she had the power to deal with the fallout of reinstating those labels come Monday morning.

A song Rachel recognized came on the radio, and she politely asked the driver to turn it up a few notches before beginning to sing along. Quinn stared out at the passing city blocks - the people walking to or from work, the newsstands, the hotdog vendors - and she let her mind wander to what it would be like... What it would be like to _live here_. To live here _with Rachel. _The butterflies returned full force, and Quinn was suddenly picturing it. The scene was brilliantly painted in her mind, vivid hues of happiness - without fear of repercussions or uncertainty about the validity of their relationship. They were just _together_, and it was lovely.

Quinn felt her phone vibrate against her thigh. She slipped it out of her clutch and read her new text message from Santana.

**Getting into trouble in the Big Apple? Wink wink.**

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Quinn started to type out a response. But then she bit her lip, backspaced, and started over. Rachel was still singing along with the radio, respectfully not looking over Quinn's shoulder as she typed on her phone.

**Maybe.**

It didn't take long for Santana to respond, but Quinn wasn't surprised.

**...What? Details, Q! You're killing me here.**

Quinn chuckled slightly under her breath as she wrote back.

**Going out to dinner and a show now. Can I call you tomorrow night?**

It wasn't difficult for Quinn to imagine Santana's huff of frustration and exaggerated eye roll.

**Fine. But I expect DETAILS, Fabray. DETAILS!**

The song ended, and Rachel was once again leaning her head against Quinn's shoulder as the taxi pulled over in front of a lovely little Italian restaurant. The driver turned around and said, "Tell them Big Mike sent ya!"

Smiling, Quinn replied, "You got it, Big Mike. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothin', this one's on the house."

"No really, I insist," Quinn said, reaching into her purse for her cash.

Big Mike scoffed and stuck his hand out. "Seriously, it was my privilege to escort two beautiful women such as yourselves. Please, go enjoy your evening."

As they slipped out of the cab, Quinn dropped a twenty dollar bill into the front passenger seat.

* * *

They had placed their orders and were sitting caddy corner to each other at a small table. The area of the restaurant they were sitting in had low lighting and there were several candles illuminating their faces. Quinn sipped slowly on a glass of wine and tried not to blush under Rachel's fierce observation. She could see the questions on the tip of Rachel's tongue, desperate to fall off the edge. With a single raised eyebrow, she indicated that Rachel should speak her mind.

"I feel like..." The uncertainty in Rachel's voice was enough to cause Quinn's heart to race yet again. "...like we have a lot to learn about each other. All of this has been such a whirlwind. And I realize that we've been building up to it for a long time now. I also realize that how we feel is enough for us, even if it's not enough for everyone else." Quinn nodded as she leaned back in her seat. Rachel pulled a breadstick apart and fiddled with it for a few moments before looking back up into Quinn's eyes. "I just want you and I to be so solid that whenever the inevitable backlash comes, we'll be ok."

Quinn smiled softly before biting her lip and leaning forward. "Ok. You can ask me anything, Rach. Anything at all. I'm yours to read and discover and over-analyze. An open book, if you will."

"_My_ open book?" Rachel questioned cutely, which the slightest of smirks on her lips.

Nodding, Quinn licked her lips and replied, "_Yours_."

Half an hour later, they had discussed such various topics as camping, music preferences, ability to roller blade, irrational fears, and hopes and dreams. There was a lot of ground to cover, but they had each made something of a tiny dent in general knowledge of the other. Quinn found solace in the hope that they would have a lot of time in the future to learn _everything_ about the other - the little things and the big things alike - and she hoped that Rachel was comfortable with that prospect as well.

As they were finishing their entrees, Quinn asked the all-important question. "Do you have any particular musical you want to see tonight?"

"Oh Quinn," Rachel's eyes widened as she dropped her fork and pulled a piece of paper out of her purse, unfolding it and setting it down on the table between them. "Do I ever!"

* * *

That night as they walked out of the theatre, Quinn found herself overwhelmed by the infectious enthusiasm Rachel was displaying.

"And act two was just beyond brilliant, I can hardly stand it! I love the throwback with the costume designs, it was all so fresh. They really did a great job with the revival of this show. _I'll be so happy to keep his dinner warm!_" Rachel sang the words out, and Quinn didn't even spare a glance in the direction of passersby - who were likely either certain that Rachel was an overzealous fan or who were overzealous fans themselves and thus jealous of Rachel's vocal talents.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Rach," Quinn's words left her throat on the wings of laughter that she couldn't have repressed even if she had wanted to.

Because she was utterly _happy_, dammit, and there's no repressing happiness of that magnitude.

Rachel stopped, turned, and belted out the chorus of the finale right in front of Quinn - with her arms spread wide open and a host of onlookers staring unabashedly. As her final note faded into the sounds of the busy Broadway thoroughfare, Quinn stepped forward and picked Rachel up around the waist. She spun around three full times with Rachel's gleeful laughter resounding against her ear and the people around them clapping earnestly.

Gently lowering Rachel back down to the ground, Quinn pressed their foreheads together. The applause was still going on around them, though it was fading now as people began to disperse. "You just received your first standing ovation on Broadway."

Rachel never even broke eye contact with Quinn to catch a glimpse of the masses around them who had become enthralled by her impromptu performance on the sidewalk. Instead - wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear - she pulled Quinn down with a firm hand on the back of her neck and crashed their lips together in an electrifying kiss of teeth and tongues. When she finally pulled away, sticking her arm out to flag an empty taxi in the process, she said, "But certainly not my last!"

* * *

They climbed out of the cab in front of their hotel and walked inside, hand-in-hand. They approached the elevator, and Quinn said, "It's been quite the day."

Rachel nodded and turned her head in Quinn's direction. Her shockingly tall heels put her on an almost even footing with Quinn. "Yeah," she said quietly, the faintest of grins on her lips, "quite the day."

"You'll have to tell me more about your audition and the interview," Quinn said softly, brushing her nose against Rachel's temple. She thought back to earlier that afternoon and her anxious wait outside of Rachel's audition room - it seemed a lifetime ago now. "I can only imagine that you were amazing, but you were in there quite a while."

"Well," Rachel replied, laughter already bubbling up from somewhere deep within her chest. "Let's just say that some of them were skeptical at first." Quinn raised an eyebrow in question. "But don't worry, I think I made them all into believers."

* * *

_By the time three of the four judges had picked songs for Rachel to perform - and perform them she had, with gusto - Rachel was sure that she had won most of them over._

_But there was still the matter of the sneering judge. She could see it on his face - how painful it appeared to be as the minutes passed by and he attempted to remain unimpressed. As she finished the song request from the third judge - "Maybe This Time" - Rachel turned her feet slightly, angling her body to the fourth judge. She entered into something of a staring contest with him, mentally willing him to give her a chance._

_He huffed once and tried to ignore his giddy colleagues sharing the seats on his side of the table before opening his mouth. "Do you have any duets in your wheelhouse?"_

_Rachel's grin could have broken her face in two if she hadn't simply known down to her very core that this gentleman would eventually see the light. "Certainly!" she answered. "Unfortunately, I left my folder of duets at home. Did you have something in mind?"_

_"I'm assuming you're familiar with 'Rent'?"_

_Idina Menzel was a personal favorite, and Rachel had always thought that her mother shared a striking resemblance to the powerful Broadway talent. She nodded enthusiastically. "I am familiar, yes."_

_The judge stood up from the table, pushing the chair back with his knees and loosening his tie in the process. He walked around the table and pointed at the pianist. "'Take Me or Leave Me' in b flat." The man nodded before sliding his fingers down the piano keys._

_Rachel wasted no time, immediately picking up Maureen's part. Soon, it came Joanne's turn to take over. And Rachel decided that __**every **__middle-aged white man who loved show tunes must have a strong, sassy black woman hidden deep inside - because sneering judge number four absolutely __**owned**__ the part._

_Their voices rose up in harmony for the final note. And with the always-dramatic "Guess I'm leaving!" followed by the "I'm gone!" Rachel and the judge walked to opposite sides of the room before turning back to each other and the room at large, absurd smiles on their faces._

_"Well," judge number four placed his hands on his hips as he breathed in deeply, "I don't think we've seen the last of you, Rachel Berry."_

* * *

Rachel's retelling of the story carried them all the way into their room where they collapsed onto the bed. Quinn's head was resting on the bed, just beneath Rachel's outstretched left arm. She turned her head slightly to the side, cocking her ear just so and trying to convince herself that she could hear Rachel's heartbeat pounding in time with her own.

"That's amazing, Rach," Quinn breathed out, voice still choked with laughter.

Rachel just smiled, slowly beginning to brush her fingers through Quinn's long hair where it had fallen out of its up do. "I think it'll work out for the best."

"How much do you think you'll love living here?" Quinn asked.

Without wasting a beat, Rachel repeated the question back at Quinn. "How much do _you _think you'll love living here, Quinn?"

Quinn took a few breaths, calming her heartbeat and gathering her thoughts. "I hadn't really thought about it before, to be quite honest. And I mean, I've only been working at Haverbrook for less than a year. I'm not sure how easy it would be to get a job at a Deaf school here in the city -"

"Actually," Rachel succinctly interrupted, "I may have taken the liberty of looking into just that. On your behalf, of course."

Quinn rolled over onto her stomach, bracing herself with one arm on the opposite side of Rachel's body. "Oh really?"

Rachel bit her lip underneath Quinn's scrutinizing gaze directly above her. She nodded, and Quinn's breathing became labored as she swore she could see Rachel's pupils dilate right in front of her very eyes. "I did, yes. And you'd be surprised at the shortage of teachers they face - even right here, in the Manhattan area."

Quinn's heart - never to be quelled, apparently - was beating rapidly all over again, pumping blood somewhere between her legs that she really, _really _wished it wouldn't. She hardly blinked as she stared down at the young woman underneath her, the woman with so many answers to questions that Quinn hadn't even considered asking yet. Rachel shifted slightly under her, and Quinn couldn't suppress the slightly strangled moan that crossed her lips as Rachel's breast brushed lightly against hers.

They were fully clothed. They were just lying next to each other. They hadn't kissed in at least half an hour.

But Quinn was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would be throwing the underwear she was currently wearing away at the end of the night.

Rachel's hand snuck up between them, and her unfathomably soft fingertips brushed a strand of hair back behind Quinn's ear before trailing down her cheek, across her brow, over her lips. Quinn shuddered and finally allowed her eyes to close - she squeezed them tightly shut and breathed out heavily through her nose.

"Rachel," she whispered. She almost didn't even hear herself speak the word.

"Quinn," Rachel replied, and so Quinn knew that she hadn't imagined herself speaking.

"I _want you,_ Rachel. To an almost _outrageous_ degree. And I really need your help. I need you to help me keep things under control. Because we can't let things unnf-"

Quinn was instantly cut off by Rachel's lips on her own, Rachel's tongue in her mouth, Rachel's hands grasping hungrily at her bare shoulders. A leg was suddenly crooked up and over Quinn's hip, and Quinn was blissfully aware of the bare skin of Rachel's exposed thigh pressing into the thin material of her own dress.

"You only live once," Rachel breathed into Quinn's ear, moist lips capturing her earlobe and biting lightly.

Quinn's insides clenched almost painfully and she squeezed her thighs together as she moaned. A few more seconds of what could only be described as pure ecstasy played out on their king size bed before their actions finally caught up to Quinn's lust-addled brain. She pulled back and traced her thumb over Rachel's deliciously swollen lips and rested her forehead against Rachel's. "And you only die once as well, Rachel." She watched as long, dark eyelashes fluttered shut underneath her gaze. "After graduation..." she had only just started to speak the words, and already she knew how impossible they would sound in the presence of throbbing centers and bruised lips and ragged breaths. "After graduation, we can be together. In _all _of the ways we can't be together now." Rachel's eyes were still shut, and Quinn felt a sudden surge of uncertainty. "If...If that's what you want."

Chocolate eyes were suddenly open and looking straight into Quinn's. "Are you kidding?" Rachel practically laughed in her face. "After _that, _you think that I might not want to be more _physical _with you, Quinn?" Quinn didn't answer - she simply continued looking into Rachel's beautiful eyes, content to live in this woman's presence for as long as she possibly could before their current existence painfully collided with the real world once more. Rachel reached up and cupped both of Quinn's cheeks in her palms. "I want _all _of you, Quinn Fabray." The words were carried across moist lips in a husky tone that made Quinn throb almost painfully once more. She hoped against all hope that Rachel wasn't aware of exactly how much Quinn was having to restrain herself at this point. "And I'm willing to wait for you."

Quinn swallowed harshly around the lump in her throat. She nodded and reassured Rachel with her words and not merely her actions. "I'm willing to wait as well."

"Doesn't mean it will be easy," Rachel smirked, softly running her hands down Quinn's body to rest against her sides where her thumbs traced small circles against Quinn's hips.

Biting her lip and breathing heavily into the pillow next to Rachel's face, Quinn groaned. "No, it definitely does _not_ mean it will be easy."

Reluctantly, Quinn rolled off of Rachel and to the side. A couple feet of luxuriously soft comforter separated their bodies. Somewhere in the middle, their fingertips met.

"One hundred and ten days." Rachel's words were quiet, but they drifted easily to Quinn's ears on the silence in the room.

Quinn couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah," she agreed, "one hundred and ten days."


	19. Chapter 19

**The Silence of Silence**

At some point in the middle of the night, Quinn woke up to the sensation of uncontrollable shivers up and down her legs. Her eyes blinked unseeingly into the semi-darkness for a few seconds as she regained her bearings. The fingers of the her right hand were cold, but she managed to blindly reach down and pull the bed's throw up over her legs.

As sleep was slowly but surely vacated from her mind and from her eyelids, Quinn looked to her right and took in the sight of Rachel's profile. The light from the bathroom must have been left on when they fell asleep on top of the comforter no telling how many hours ago, and the other girl's face was lightly illuminated. And her profile _now_ was far more peaceful than the last time- not even twenty-four hours previous - when Quinn had awoken in the middle of the night to a whimpering, shaking, lost-in-her-dreams version of Rachel in bed with her.

It wasn't just her _profile_ that was different though. Her state of dress - or _undress_ - was quite different tonight as well.

Rachel's legs were spread slightly apart, the soft yellow dress riding up the smallest bit - teasing Quinn mercilessly. She stared in wonderment at the expanse of deliciously soft-looking skin along Rachel's thighs, the curvature of her collarbone, the strong but delicate line of her jaw. Quinn wanted little more in that moment than to trail her lips across every bit of skin in sight, to nip at the surely sensitive flesh at the apex of Rachel's tanned, toned thighs, to suck on the strong sinews of her neck, to feel Rachel's pulse beneath her lips...

But Quinn's power of will had been greatly fortified in recent months. So she found herself instead captivated primarily by Rachel's profile - the outline of her strong nose, slightly pouty lips, long eyelashes that rested daintily against skin in the peaceful pose of untroubled sleep. Earlier that morning, that beautiful brow had been furrowed in some unknown agony and those cheeks, wet with tears. Slowly, Quinn shifted, rolling onto her side and closing the distance between Rachel's body and her own. She continued to stare at - _observe_ - Rachel's sleeping figure. Before long, Quinn was involuntarily transported back to another place, another time.

To a bus - with uncomfortable seats and the chilly night air seeping in through someone's cracked window. The occasional light on the side of the highway illuminating the peaceful, innocent face of Rachel Berry as Quinn looked on with tears in her eyes. One last puzzle piece had seemed to fall into place that night - the mystery of Rachel's silence spread out on the pages between Quinn's fingers but also etched in her mind for all of eternity.

Quinn's reminiscences must have been projecting. Rachel's head rolled towards her in the faint light, brown eyes blinked sleepily open at her, and the soft upturning of the corners of lips indicated at least a partial state of consciousness.

"Hey, beautiful." The words escaped across Quinn's lips on an exhalation of breath, faintly moving towards the other girl in the silence of the room. But reach Rachel's ears, they most certainly did. A tired smile spread across her lips, and she poked herself in the chest lightly. _'Me?'_ she mouthed, an air of shyness surrounding her still sleepy figure. Quinn merely nodded her head, lifting the blanket and moving over to drape it over Rachel's legs as well - which were surely as cold as hers.

The material fell over Rachel's exposed limbs, hiding the tantalizing skin from Quinn's view. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived because she suddenly found Rachel pressing more fully against her under the blanket. Lying on her side, Quinn's nose was inundated with the sweet smell of Rachel's shampoo and her hands - which had naturally wrapped around Rachel's slender figure - were overwhelmed by the surprising amount of warmth radiating from her body. She inhaled deeply as Rachel trailed her hand up Quinn's side, wrapping it snugly around the back of her bare shoulder.

The sensation of Rachel's palm and fingers splayed over her naked flesh caused Quinn to clench her thighs together tightly - trying valiantly and failing spectacularly to not allow her mind to wander to their passionate kisses from earlier in the evening.

"We should get under the covers," Quinn mumbled against the top of Rachel's head. She felt the brunette nod against her chin. "Come on," she gently said, moving to roll off the bed. It was almost physically painful to have to extricate herself from the perfect embrace Rachel had managed to slip them into.

Standing from the bed, Quinn turned and held her hands out. Rachel smiled and extended her own hands, grasping onto Quinn's and allowing Quinn to pull her into another warm, drowsy embrace. "Thank you for this evening," Rachel said quietly as they rocked almost imperceptibly back and forth in the middle of their hotel room.

"I enjoyed it," Quinn replied simply. It was true, and the other words she wanted to say were perhaps too heavy for the moment - about how _perfect_ the night was, how she was already imagining their future together, what it would be like to walk out of that same theatre after Rachel's opening night as the star of the latest Broadway hit production.

Rachel's hands on the small of Quinn's back squeezed tightly before loosening to roam lightly over her exposed skin. Thankful for the low cut LBD, Quinn tried - unsuccessfully - to repress a quiver from her head to her toes. When Rachel spoke, Quinn could hear the telling tone that easily indicated that Rachel knew _well_ the internal struggle Quinn was experiencing. "It was a great first date."

Quinn paused. "First date?" she asked before even giving herself time to formulate actual thoughts. And then her mind was off.

If she had taken the time to consider this to be their first date, would she have done things differently? She could have held open more doors or bought flowers. She could have written poetry or declared her love verbally or...

Or _something_.

"Yeah." Rachel was giggling now. "First date." She leaned back and took in Quinn's slightly parted lips and wide eyes. "Are you disappointed?"

Was Quinn disappointed? Would she have changed even a second of their night out together?

No.

She shook her head. "No, I'm not disappointed." Leaning down, Quinn pressed her lips against the soft skin of Rachel's cheek as further confirmation of her answer. "Let's get some sleep. I'm gonna brush my teeth and change my clothes."

Rachel nodded and so Quinn headed into the bathroom where her sleep clothes were folded on the back of the toilet from earlier that morning.

When she came out of the bathroom, Rachel was sitting in the desk chair with her legs crossed, tying her hair up in a messy bun on the top of her head. They exchanged smiles as Quinn slipped into bed and Rachel headed into the bathroom.

Quinn had put on her glasses and checked their flight itinerary from her phone. She was just removing her glasses from her face when Rachel walked back out of the bathroom.

And Quinn immediately slipped them back up her nose. Because Rachel was still wearing her yellow dress, but she was reaching behind her back and unzipping it as she walked across the room.

And then Rachel was pushing the straps down her shoulders, and she was shimmying the yellow fabric down her chest and past her hips, leaving it to pool in a small pile on the floor.

Her bra and panties were sunshine yellow, and Quinn's only thoughts were of angels and hallelujah choruses. She gulped and pushed her glasses even further up the bridge of her nose with a single finger.

"Uhhh..." she trailed off lamely as her thoughts literally came to a standstill in her brain. Rachel was crawling under the covers on the other side of the bed, and all Quinn could do was stare.

The other girl's body was complete and utter _perfection_.

"Ready for bed?" Rachel asked, settling back on her pillows. Quinn gulped but did not respond. Rachel leaned up on an elbow, twisting in Quinn's direction. "Are you done with that light?" She gestured in the direction of Quinn's bedside lamp. All Quinn could do was nod dumbly as Rachel crawled on all fours towards her side of the bed. Rachel delicately removed Quinn's glasses from her face, folded them up, and sat them on the nightstand. Her chest was practically _on_ Quinn's face as she reached across the blonde and snapped the light off.

They descended into darkness as Rachel leaned back, resting on her knees. The silence was broken only by the quietest whisper of a tongue over lips, and then Rachel was leaning down and kissing the corner of Quinn's lips, one of her hands cupping Quinn's cheek tenderly.

Quinn thanked whatever higher power existed in that moment that Rachel wasn't straddling her waist. She thanked them when she felt Rachel's lips slide tantalizingly over hers. She thanked them for letting her remember how to breathe. She thanked them for keeping her conscious as her heart beat erratically within the confines of her chest cavity.

But when Rachel pulled away with a softly whispered _"Good night, my darling"_, Quinn thanked them most of all for bringing Rachel Berry into her life.

* * *

The plane pushed back from the gate and began its steady journey to their designated runway. Quinn leaned her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the roar of the engines to wash over her.

All morning long, no words had been spoken between Quinn and Rachel. They had woken up in quite the compromising position with Quinn practically lying on top of the smaller girl, her shirt riding up and their bare stomachs pressing together. Sometime in their sleep, their fingers had intertwined and were resting on the pillow next to Rachel's head. But when their eyes opened and snapped to each other, they didn't make apologies for the invasion of personal space. They didn't say anything. They didn't even kiss. Quinn had laid her head back down on Rachel's shoulder, and she had attempted to distract herself from the now highly visible and _vast_ expanses of almost-entirely-naked Rachel skin underneath her by staring at Rachel's neck. But that had only made her want to drag her tongue over the muscles she saw there.

Unable to entirely resist, she pushed forward and placed a lingering kiss on Rachel's pulse point before pulling away.

It was a dance as they got ready for the day - showering (separately), packing, doing hair and makeup, eating breakfast at the hotel restaurant downstairs, the cab ride to the airport, security checkpoints, boarding the plane.

Their goodbyes to New York City were done in silence and independently of the other. They were each thankful for a lot of things that the weekend had given them, but they were both also thinking about one thing relentlessly, nervously...

Monday morning. Fourth period, senior English.

The plane was making its ascent into the sky when Quinn finally chanced a glance at the girl sitting next to her. She immediately became distraught when she noticed a single tear tracking its way down Rachel's cheek. Her head was turned fully out the window and leaned back against the headrest of the seat Quinn had been assigned to but had silently given up to Rachel when they boarded the plane.

Quinn turned fully in her seat, reaching out and wiping away the tear with the pad of her thumb. "Rachel," she whispered, her first word to Rachel all day. Sad, wet eyes turned in her direction and Quinn's heart skipped a beat. "Why are you crying?"

Rachel sniffled once, and Quinn couldn't help but smile at the dramatic way in which she had done it. "I glimpsed my future this weekend," Rachel began, "and it was better than anything I had ever imagined."

Quinn's brows furrowed as she continued to cup Rachel's cheek in her palm. "And that's making you cry, sweetheart?"

"I'm crying because it's harder than I thought it would be to leave it behind."

Nodding her head solemnly, Quinn made sure that Rachel's eyes were locked with hers. "You're not leaving anything behind, Rach. You'll be back before you know it, and it'll be like you never even left." Rachel smiled gratefully at her through wet lashes, and Quinn added, "And anyway, you can't buy a house in Heaven. And that's kind of what this weekend was, don't you think?"

* * *

The rest of the plane ride was spent in silence. And when the plane landed in Cincinnati, Quinn unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed both of their bags from overhead. When they walked through the terminal to the shuttle area, the grasp of Rachel's hand in the crook of her elbow helped to keep her grounded.

Doors clicked shut as they situated themselves inside Quinn's car, and Rachel pulled out her cell phone to call Shelby and let her know they were on their way home. Quinn pulled out of the parking lot, paying for their weekend stay and heading in the direction of the nearest highway entrance ramp.

"Shelby? Hi." A pause, and Quinn heard Shelby's voice on the other end of the line. "Yeah, we're on the road right now. We should probably be home in a couple of hours." Quinn looked down at her lap and smiled at the sight of Rachel's hand, palm up, resting there - waiting for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She laced her fingers with Rachel's and glanced over at the other girl. And though Rachel was staring resolutely forward, the slightest of smirks was discernable on the features of her profile. "Whatever you'd like. Yeah, that sounds great. Mmhmm, thanks. You too."

Rachel put her phone away and pulled out her iPod. She plugged it into the audio jack attached to Quinn's radio.

The sounds of "Crush" filled the car, and both of the girls smiled. The two hours passed with no words, no singing, and only a few (dozen) shared glances between them. They communicated through the different songs they would play for the other, taking turns as each song came to a close to pick something new.

There was something so comforting about the entire situation for Quinn. The way Rachel's legs were crossed. The way the sunlight glinted off of the silver bracelet on her wrist. The ease with which they existed together in this space they had created - somewhere between sound and silence.

She was an actress again. Her scene partner was stunning, walking perfection. And soon, the movie would be over.

Quinn was hoping for a sequel.

* * *

The bright pink suitcase was easily lifted from the trunk. Quinn placed it carefully on the sidewalk and walked back to her car. She dusted her hands off after the trunk was closed once more.

And when she looked up the pathway to the front door, Shelby was walking towards her.

Not for the first time in recent memory, Quinn's brain went into overdrive, and she tried her hardest to appear nonchalant and gracious. _I wonder if Shelby knows. Do you think it's possible that she could just look at me and realize that I've been making out with her daughter all weekend? There's no way, no possible way... But she's a mom. And they __**always**__ know! _

_Dammit._

"Rachel!" Shelby exclaimed, pulling her daughter into a tight hug first and foremost. Rachel returned it warmly before extricating herself and directing Shelby towards Quinn.

Quinn tried not to make her glare too obvious.

"Quinn!" Shelby exclaimed once more, wrapping her arms around Quinn's shoulders and giving her a less exuberant hug - but a hug nonetheless. She leaned back but kept her hand on Quinn's upper arms. Shelby just smiled at the woman in front of her, her eyes flickering across Quinn's face.

With her life quite literally on the line, Quinn schooled her features and replied, "Hi Shelby, it's good to see you."

"You too! Oh, thank you so much for going with Rachel this weekend. I was thinking about you guys the whole time I was at that awful conference." They shared appreciative laughs. Rachel was rolling her suitcase up the walk to the front door. Quinn's eyes shifted to her for a moment as she pulled her suitcase inside. "I'm so grateful, Quinn. And not just for this weekend."

Shelby's statement easily snapped Quinn's focus back onto her. "I'm sorry," Quinn questioned, "what do you mean?"

Glancing briefly over her shoulder in the direction of the front door where Rachel had disappeared, Shelby turned back to Quinn and said, "For everything. She's a completely new person compared to who she was just a few months ago. Or at least, who she pretended to be to the world. That smiling, happy girl, Quinn? That's entirely your fault. And I'm more thankful than I can possibly express."

The front door opened and closed, and Rachel was on her way back down the sidewalk. The smirk on her lips told Quinn that she knew _exactly_ what Shelby had been saying to her.

"Well, I'll let you two catch up. I'm sure you'll want to hear all about her weekend," Quinn said sweetly before stepping down off of the sidewalk and walking backwards to her car.

"Thanks for accompanying me this weekend, Miss Fabray," Rachel said with a kind smile and a cute wave of her hand.

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek as she wiggled her fingers once in Rachel and Shelby's direction before slipping into her car and pulling away.

* * *

The few blocks between Rachel's home and Quinn's apartment passed by uneventfully. Quinn noted that a few trees were courageously attempting to grow new, green leaves. It made her yearn for springtime.

Springtime and new beginnings.

Pulling into an empty parking spot, Quinn turned off her car. She leaned her head back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Slowly, she exhaled.

"What happens tomorrow?" she murmured quietly to herself, eyes still closed and one of her feet tapping slowly against the floor mat. But the universe didn't respond.

What would happen when she walked into school tomorrow, when she strolled into her classroom and was confronted by Rachel Berry sitting there - sitting there as if she _owned_ that damned desk on the far side of the room? They had kissed. They had held hands and each other. Moments had been shared, memories had been made.

But what did it _mean_?

Quinn knew she probably should have resisted. She remembered with clarity that moment when she realized that the fine line between _right_ and _wrong_ was something to _sprint_ _away from_ as fast as she possibly could. But she had stayed. She had stood her ground. She had fought for something that she didn't even understand at the time.

So had she won? Her mind didn't even allow her neurons to stop firing for even a split second, the answer already flashing brilliantly across the muddled expanse of her brain - _yes_. She had won. Quinn had Rachel Berry in her life. And that simple fact was something she had been learning to appreciate more and more every single day.

A weekend in New York City hadn't necessarily been vital to realizing how incredibly _special_ Rachel Berry truly was - but it _had_ given Quinn the opportunity to explore the girl, the emotions, the life.

Unfortunately, Quinn was left with the taste of Rachel on her tongue and the hope for a future in New York in her heart. And she wasn't sure how long she could _stand it._

Her cell phone chimed from its place in the passenger seat.

Quinn opened her eyes and stared out through her front windshield for a few moments. Leaving this car was the next step in the process of making it through this weekend fully intact. Leaving Rachel at her home had been less difficult than Quinn had anticipated, simply because of Shelby's presence. But now, Quinn was alone - and the lingering familiarity of _Rachel_ would be gone as soon as she opened the door and stepped foot back in the real world.

Reality would quite possibly crash down around her, pinning her to the pavement and crushing the life from her body, suffocating her slowly as she stared at Rachel's figure in the distance. Just out of Quinn's reach.

Her chest literally clenched at the thought, aching terribly and making it almost difficult to breathe.

"Get it together, Fabray," Quinn said to herself, squeezing her hands into fists and pushing them against her jean-covered thighs.

Taking several deep breaths, Quinn was able to get her body and her emotions under control.

Until, that is, she finally reached over and picked up her cell phone. A text from **RAY** shone teasingly out at her.

**109 days. See you at the finish line.**

Quinn didn't hesitate before responding.

**Slow and steady wins the race. You programmed your number into my phone, you devious girl?**

Inexplicably fortified by the appearance of Rachel's number in her phone, Quinn grabbed her keys and opened her trunk, finally prepared to pop the bubble that the past forty-eight hours had created. As she was grabbing her suitcase, her phone chimed once more. She laughed under her breath as the alter ego of "Ray" that Rachel had created for herself appeared on her screen again.

**It's a slow burn. But it's gonna burn ohhh so good. ;-)**

Quinn's heart raced as her smile utterly consumed her entire being. This girl would be the death of her.

But she was certainly making life something worth living along the way.

* * *

_A/N: Special inclusion of one of Lady Gaga's "Yoü & I" lyrics, bonus points for you if you saw it!_


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Two things.

1) No excuses for the gap between updates. Life happens. I finished a fic in the meantime though! Go check it out if you wanna, it's on my profile here: **Better Run, Outrun My Gun**.

2) Frigging **ENJOY**, people!

**The Silence of Silence**

The closing of the trunk resounded in Quinn's eardrums with the most peculiar sense of certainty. Her scarf flapped lightly against the warm skin of her neck as she rolled her suitcase up the sidewalk. All the while, the palm of her hand was pressing into the cool screen of her phone as she allowed herself to remember Rachel's texts.

_One hundred and nine days._

As Quinn pulled her keys out of her coat pocket, she found herself blinking more than usual in an attempt to clear away the slightest spell of light-headedness that had suddenly fallen upon her.

It had been a long weekend.

The light was already on when she stepped into the entryway. Her scarf and coat ended up on hooks, and she rounded the corner only to see the figure of her roommate just at the other end of the hallway. The light above his head illuminated his almost-boyish features – the dimple in his chin and the upward quirk of his lips, the curly hair on his head and his clean-shaven face. Quinn smiled to herself and moved towards her bedroom.

"Quinn!" Will exclaimed, suddenly turning and seeing the blonde as she approached. His hands fumbled over the knot in his tie as he reached out to give her a hug.

His arms were warm against her shoulders – too warm, almost – and Quinn would be lying if she claimed to not have compared them for the briefest of moments to another set of arms entirely.

"Hi, Will," she replied. "It's good to see you."

"You, too!" he ecstatically replied, clearly little more than a massive ball of pure energy and nerves.

With an eyebrow quirked, Quinn asked, "Big date tonight?"

Her intuition was clearly sharp – or else Will Schuester was just _terribly_ easy to read. "Yeah, I'm taking Emma out to dinner and a concert in the park."

The smile on his face was contagious. Though this was not an unusual occurrence. "I hope you have a great time," Quinn replied.

Finally having successfully tied his tie, Will clasped a hand on Quinn's shoulder as he moved past her in the hall. "Thanks, Quinn. Listen, I look forward to hearing all about your weekend – spare me _no_ details – but it'll have to be later. Don't wanna be late!"

"Sure," Quinn said quietly. But he was already off into the living room, grabbing his coat and keys and heading out with one last wave of his hand in Quinn's direction. "Spare you no details…" For a moment, Quinn just stood there in the hallway. She stood there and she thought about last night and the night before and all of the minutes in between.

Needless to say, Quinn was already editing the story of her weekend in New York City with Rachel Berry. There was a version playing out in her head where they were teacher and student, where Quinn was there as Miss Fabray for moral support and a guiding hand and nothing more. And then there was the version that _actually_ happened; the version where they were Quinn and Rachel, where they kissed in the middle of Times Square, where one held the other after a nightmare, where they had their first date as...

As _whatever_ they are.

It was a weird sense of limbo that Quinn found herself floating in with Rachel. They weren't lovers. And they weren't really girlfriends either. But Rachel's touch was burned into Quinn's skin, the girl's existence was etched across every fissure of her brain.

But that didn't define anything at all.

Sometimes the act of defining something is necessary. Sometimes it's unnecessary. Sometimes it hurts and sometimes it feels like a euphoric release and sometimes…

Sometimes it just leaves you in some indeterminate state of confusion and weird feelings and with a chest that clenches painfully when you least expect it.

The doorknob to her room was cold to the touch. The air was still as the soft echo of the door clicking into place followed her across the room. She rolled her suitcase over the carpet and let it lean against the bed before sitting on the crisp comforter. Her fingertips rolled lazily across the print of the bedspread, and Quinn finally allowed herself to slowly fall backwards.

Her breath passed through her airways – in and out and in and out – slowly, surely, and she did little more than exist for a finite period of time. Just that little bit of time where Quinn was nothing more than a young woman lying on her bed with her legs dangling off of the side and her hair splayed over the pillow underneath her shoulders and not a care in the world.

She let herself not care for just that set amount of time. She let herself detach and escape and not worry – because she knew that the next one hundred and nine days were going to be filled with enough worry that she could realistically put it off for another day. For just one more day, she could try and hold onto that surreal bubble of existence she had been a part of with Rachel.

Before Quinn even realized that she had fallen asleep – whisked away into a dreamless escape from reality – her phone was vibrating from its place where it was still clutched between her fingers.

Blinking slowly a few times to clear the haziness of sleep from her eyes, Quinn brought the phone up to her face.

**Call me, bitch. **

She pressed the call button, and it only took a moment for her feisty ex-a-lot-of-things to start talking to her through the device.

"_Oh my god._" Santana's voice washed clearly over Quinn's drowsy conscious. "_There is absolutely no way that your weekend could possibly top mine_," she said.

"Hi to you, too," Quinn replied, chuckling slightly as she rolled over on her side. She tucked a few strands of her long, loose hair back behind an ear. The phone was resting against the side of her face as she fiddled with a string on the edge of a pillowcase.

"_Yeah_," Santana said shortly. "_Hi. Listen. Brittany is literally the greatest lay I have ever had in my life. I can't even begin to –_"

"Whoa," Quinn said abruptly, holding her hand up in midair as if Santana could see – as if it would have made any difference whatsoever. "Why don't you start from the beginning, stud."

"_Mmhmm. That's right, girl. I am totally a stud._" What followed was a fifteen minute recap of exactly how _studly_ Santana thought she was – with detailed evidence to prove her point. "_Now,_" she finally cut herself off, and Quinn's eyes snapped open from where they had drifted shut somewhere along the line. "_Tell me exactly what kind of trouble you got into this weekend, Fabray_."

Quinn hummed into the phone, and silence descended upon the longtime friends as she formulated a response in her head. Tell Santana the edited version she was already preparing for Will? Or tell Santana the truth – all of the details, incriminating or not?

"Rachel and I kissed," she finally spoke into the phone. Several seconds passed, and nothing was said back at her from Santana's side of the line. Quinn picked up the phone and stared at it for a few seconds, noting that the other girl's picture was still there. The call hadn't dropped. Santana was clearly speechless. "Hello?" Quinn spoke again. "I know you're still there... And really, am _I_ not the one who should be freaking out? _You're_ not allowed to freak out, 'Ana."

"_Fine_," Santana's voice finally cut across the connection. Quinn was significantly relieved to hear the slightest trace of humor in her voice. Amusement meant that she wasn't judging Quinn. And Quinn _really_ did _not_ need to be judged right now – she was doing plenty of that all by herself. "_So…_" she drawled out slowly. "_You hooked up with the smitten kitten. After all of that worrying you were doing over Christmas, it looks like things worked out._"

"No, we didn't _hook up_," Quinn said, rolling onto her chest and propping her chin up on her forearm. She rolled the inside of her cheek between her teeth. "We did just what I said. We kissed."

"_That's it?_"

"I mean, we had to sleep in the same bed. I tried to keep our distance and all of that…"

"_Wow_." Santana was laughing openly by now. "_You've got way better self-control than I do, Q. I mean, Brittany and I were pretty much chained to –"_

"Ok, no," Quinn cut her off. "No more sexcapade tales. Please." She passed her hand that wasn't holding her phone to her ear over her eyes. She sighed into the phone, and maybe that solitary act was enough to genuinely capture Santana's attention.

"_Quinn_," she said quietly over the line, "_what's wrong?_"

A part of Quinn couldn't help but contemplate how strange it was to have the weight off of her chest. To have said '_I kissed Rachel, Rachel kissed me, Rachel and I kissed each other_', to have it out there over the airwaves, to have it tangibly somewhere beyond herself.

And still, she felt like she was suffocating.

_One hundred and nine days._

"I'm afraid that it's wrong," she finally whispered.

"_Do you think you could really love her?_" Santana asked. "_Can you exist outside of Haverbrook together? Is she worth it? She's not part of the life you had planned, but is she part of the life you have waiting for you?"_ It was blunt. It was _so_ blunt. But this was Santana. And Quinn had known all along exactly what kind of advice she would get from this girl – maybe that was exactly why she ended up calling her in the first place. She could have ignored the text. She could have held it inside. She could have told her nothing.

Instead, Quinn called Santana, one of her oldest friends. And she had told her that something had happened between herself and her student. She wouldn't have done so if the expected outcome had been negative.

And now Santana was talking about love, and Quinn was terrified. Because the realization was just beginning to sink in that she had told Rachel that she loved her.

Twice.

Albeit, no words were spoken. But sign language was an intrinsic part of who they were as individuals, and it represented the place where they had come together as one – against whatever odds were stacked against them and the societal hierarchies imposed to keep them apart. Quinn had crossed her arms and laid her heart out in front of Rachel in Times Square, and Rachel had done the same. Did she love Rachel?

"Yes." Her voice was breathless. "I already do, 'Ana. And I didn't mean for it to happen. But it did. I think she's part of a life I hadn't planned on, but a life that I'm scared to turn my back on."

"_Listen_…" Santana's voice instantly transformed into something soft and soothing – a voice that she had used to comfort Quinn after her mother would pass out drunk in the living room or her father would yell obscenities at her from the bottom of the stairs for hours at a time. "_You have done nothing wrong, Q. Do you hear me? Nothing. You're hardly older than her as it is. She's graduating in a couple of months –" _**one hundred and nine days**, Quinn's subconscious rudely interrupted "_– and it's not like you're fucking anyway._"

Santana always did have a way with words. "I know, but –"

"_No buts, blondie. You know what you want. And as your friend, my job is nothing more and nothing less than to make sure you are happy. There's a definitive line here, but you know that. You have to be careful, Q, and you have to use your head. But if you made it through this last weekend without taking her up against the nearest wall, then I'd say you can handle a few more weeks._"

_One hundred and nine days._

"Yeah," Quinn said, her lips tilting slightly upward. Santana may be completely irrational in her support, but it was still support that Quinn hadn't realized she needed. She could do this – she could make it to graduation without unraveling at the seams like a worn out knitted sweater. "Thanks, 'Ana."

"_Hey, I got my game back, and so did you, apparently!_"

They said their goodnights.

Quinn stood and moved through the apartment to brush her teeth. The building was quiet. Will wasn't back yet from his date. For just the briefest of moments, Quinn hoped that they were having a good time – and she was surprised when she remembered that Shelby had a crush on Will, and she immediately felt guilty because of it. Maybe if things didn't work out with Emma…

Once she was back in her room, Quinn clicked the lock into place behind her and discarded her clothes – one article at a time – as she crossed the room to her bed. Pulling back the comforter, she slid between the sheets. An audible moan crossed her lips as the cool material caressed her almost entirely naked form. Her nipples instantly hardened against the soft sheets, and Quinn's eyes fluttered closed as she came to a startling realization.

Without the omnipresent burden of keeping her secret relationship with Rachel entirely _secret_, she could now breathe easier. She could relax. And now that she had allowed herself to relax both emotionally and physically, her body was finally reacting to the pent-up sexual frustration she had been subjected to over the weekend – hell, over the past several _months_.

Quinn's fingers trailed down her body and dipped below the band of her underwear, and she was suddenly very grateful that Will's date was apparently going well enough that she would have the apartment all to herself for the evening.

* * *

"It was the most incredible experience," Rachel gushed.

She was sitting on the couch with Shelby, her legs crossed underneath her and a hot cup of coffee between her hands. One of Barbra's albums was playing on the record player on the other side of the room, and their stomachs were pleasantly full from the dinner they had cooked together.

"It sounds so much better than my conference," Shelby said, reaching out and grasping Rachel's knee with one of her hands. She gave it a reassuring squeeze and smiled that eye-crinkling smile that she had been doing so often as of late. "I really wish I had been able to be there."

"Me too," Rachel said. And it was true – it would have been a great experience to share with her mother. But what Rachel didn't need to say was how much happier she was that she had been able to spend the weekend with Quinn – alone. "But Quinn was the perfect chaperone," she added, genuine smile on her face and honesty lacing her words. "I assure you that I was in good hands."

Shelby smiled and released Rachel's knee, leaning forward to grab her own coffee. "Tell me absolutely _everything_ there is to know about Juilliard," she said, blowing on the surface of the hot liquid.

And so Rachel did.

The night progressed, and mother and daughter bonded over talk of Rachel's New York experience. And all along the way, Rachel would insert subtle praise and thanks directed towards Miss Quinn Fabray. She hoped that, somewhere along the line, Shelby's already positive opinion towards Quinn would become something _more_ – something unshakable, immovable. The kind of subtly stacked reputation that could not be tainted by something as minute as a relationship with her daughter – however _illegal _that relationship might be.

That was Rachel's hope, at least. And when Shelby headed off to bed with the promise of sending a _thank you_ card to Quinn, Rachel felt both guilty and ecstatic.

The silence of her room was greatly appreciated as Rachel closed the door behind her. She leaned back against the frame for a moment with her eyes closed. The silence had been her only true companion for a long time. And there was still something discomfiting about the mere act of sitting and partaking in open conversation with someone – especially someone with whom Rachel had coexisted with for eight years.

Eight years of silence on her part.

Her throat had burned that first time she had opened her voice and allowed herself to sing once more. While she had scraped away the rust and the disuse with the raw edges of her passion and determination, there was still an ache there. Just, _there_, right underneath the surface. Sometimes the ache threatened to leap from her throat into the still darkness of a nightmare-infested sleep and sometimes it resided heavily on top of the cavity in which her heart was situated. Sometimes, however, the pain was almost nonexistent.

Those were the times when Quinn was present. Talking with her or just listening to her or watching her perform.

And _god_, when Quinn watched her perform, Rachel felt as if she could climb mountains. She felt as if she _needed_ to climb mountains – or move them entirely or claim them as her own. Something – _anything_ that could come close to expressing the emotions that would well up inside of her like a volcano threatening to explode and consume everything in its path.

It was chilly in her room, and Rachel donned sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt before she dove underneath the covers. An involuntarily smile blossomed across her face as she squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her pillow.

It had been a long weekend – but a good one.

Before allowing sleep to fully consume her consciousness, Rachel rolled over and grabbed her phone off of the bedside table. She typed out a quick text to Quinn before turning out her light and letting the darkness and the silence comingle and create a blanket of security that wrapped around her, protecting her and comforting her and allowing her to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

**Don't be scared for tomorrow. Together, we can face the world. Sweetest dreams.**

* * *

When Quinn walked into Haverbrook the next morning, she was accompanied by a sense of both familiarity and the unknown. It had become her home away from home over the course of the school year. Now, it also represented the untouchable – the taboo, the relationship she was having but shouldn't be having, Rachel Berry and all of her imperfect perfections.

Signing in at the front desk, she said "Good morning" to the office secretary with her voice and her hands before making her way down to her room. Every faculty member and student that Quinn passed, she allowed herself to briefly wonder if they could see the guilt written across her features. Did they know? Was it obvious? Could they tell?

But no one said anything. They all smiled brightly and waved and signed their greetings and generally acted as civilized human beings.

She had expected less. She had expected to be read like the pages of an open, guilty book. Instead, it had just been the beginning to another day. And that comforted her inexplicably.

Taking a seat behind her desk, she allowed her eyes to close. Her heart was pounding, and she willed it to settle down – it was ok, no one knew. Things were going to work out. So she breathed deeply in and out through her nose, and the darkness around the edges of her vision receded as she opened her eyes again.

When Mr. Rumba walked into her room a quarter of an hour before classes were scheduled to commence, Quinn was thankful for the distraction.

"Good morning, Mrs. Fabray," he spoke loudly.

Quinn didn't even bother correcting the _missus_ of it all. "Good morning, Mr. Rumba," she replied. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"I did, how about yourself?" he questioned.

Nodding her head, Quinn replied, "I had a lovely weekend, yes."

Interrupting her before her story could become muddled with details, he said, "Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. Now, let me just cut straight to the chase –" Quinn choked back a giggle that Mr. Rumba probably wouldn't have heard anyway "– I'm helping the seniors in the choir put together a piece for graduation, and I wanted to know if you would be interested in helping me out."

"Of course," Quinn quickly replied.

"What?" Mr. Rumba questioned with a tilt of his head.

"_Of course_," Quinn reiterated, raising her voice slightly, "_I would love to help out!_"

"Well," Mr. Rumba's fingers flitted to his bowtie, straightening it out and clearly his throat roughly, "no need to shout about it. I'll see you after school tomorrow at four thirty!"

And then he was gone, and Quinn was leaning on her elbow against the corner of her desk with a smile on her face and wondering how easy or how difficult it would be to possibly leave this place behind.

* * *

It was only a couple of minutes after Quinn dismissed her third hour class that Rachel came strolling through the door as if she owned the place.

Maybe she did.

She took her usual seat and took out her usual notebook and uncapped her usual pen. And when she looked up and smiled at Quinn with something different from her usual smile, Quinn's knees felt weak and she was grateful for the desk and the chair she was sitting behind. _Good morning_, Quinn signed across the classroom.

_Good morning,_ Rachel replied with the skillful movement of her hands. She ducked her head down and began writing something in her notebook, and that was that. Much like classes after their previous off-campus interactions, Quinn readily followed Rachel's lead. Their eyes would connect momentarily during discussions or as the class was ending, and it was as if a puzzle piece was falling into place inside of Quinn's chest. Every look put another worry to rest, every subtle glance calmed the nervous butterflies in Quinn's stomach.

But every time their eyes connected, the raging beast inside Quinn's chest would pound fiercely as well. Quinn smiled as the class ended and she contemplated whether or not Rachel was a danger to her health.

Rachel approached Quinn's desk and handed in her assignment for the day. Then she turned, grabbed her things, and left with a departing wave in Quinn's direction. As Quinn took a seat at her desk, she saw the stark green of a post-it note peeking out from under the stack of papers that her fourth period class had just turned in. Curiously, she pulled it out, readily noting that it had been stuck to the back of Rachel's paper.

Quinn read the solitary word and bit the inside of her cheek.

**108**

The message was simple but clear. They were in this together, and they could do little more than take things one day at a time.

One day at a time…

* * *

The door opened after her last class of the day had already departed, and Quinn was momentarily surprised. But Rachel Berry walking across the room didn't surprise her as much as excite her. The girl was stunning, that much was impossible to argue. Her skirts always seemed to push the boundaries of the dress code, her perfectly pressed shirts miraculously accented every asset she possessed, and her hair oftentimes looked ready for shampoo commercials.

And a part of Quinn felt like staking ownership over Rachel in that moment, she was just so sexy walking across her classroom with confidence oozing across her shoulders and down her body – every inch of her exuded self-respect, and Quinn fell a little more in love with her in that moment.

"Hi," Quinn said softly. Her voice naturally fell into that husky tone that seemed to come out around Rachel. "How are you?" she questioned.

Rachel nodded in her direction as she took a seat on the edge of a desk near Quinn's at the front of the classroom. Her bag fell to the floor with the mildest of thumps, and Quinn's heart raced as Rachel crossed her legs. Because when she crossed her legs, a great deal of skin was exposed. And Quinn was trying to figure out whether or not Rachel was wearing underwear.

_I missed you today_, Rachel signed. It was almost as if, by not speaking, she was acknowledging again the deep connection they held through sign language – the sanctuary but also the prison that Haverbrook represented when it came to their relationship.

Quinn stood up and walked around the desk. She leaned back against the corner and crossed her ankles, and she didn't even bother trying to mask the blatant look of desire with which she stared at the girl sitting in front of her. _I missed you as well_, she replied with the quick movements of her hands.

Rachel uncrossed and crossed her legs again, and Quinn wasn't sure if she could handle anymore skin being revealed. Rachel's hands were moving once more, but Quinn suddenly found herself blinking sluggishly, unable to follow the movements.

A soft pounding engulfed her eardrums. Rachel was speaking – Quinn could vaguely see her lips moving and hear the soft roar of sound in her head – but she couldn't make out the words. Blood was rushing away from her head or to her head or something that was making the room spin uncontrollably, wherever the blood was going. She blinked and tried to keep Rachel's now worried face in her line of sight, but she couldn't. And that scared her.

Her chest was unusually tight – in fact, it would have been notably _painful_ if she hadn't been distracted by her out of sync heartbeat and her blurring vision. Rachel was rushing towards her and her lips were moving rapidly and her face looked _so_ worried – and all Quinn wanted to do was tell her that it was ok, but she didn't really know if that was true.

She was suddenly weightless as she began to fall to the ground, blackness beginning to engulf her vision.

And her last thought was of that bright green post-it note and the number **108** flashing vividly through her mind.

And then, nothing.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh.


	21. Chapter 21

**The Silence of Silence**

_The sky was an angry shade of grey. It was dark and the clouds were billowing violently as far as Quinn could see and she was sure that raindrops were going to form and fall down around her in a matter of moments. She could almost feel the moisture in the air, taste the humidity on her tongue, smell the earthy scent of an approaching storm in her nose._

_Her line of sight dropped back down to the ground, and she was immediately confused. It didn't make sense that she would be here, of all places. She could see it in the distance – the tree with the swing, the swing she had pushed Caleb on in their childhood._

_He had fallen once. He had fallen and he had cried and Quinn had only been nine-years old at the time and she hadn't known what to do. She had been scared then. She had wanted to cry herself. But she had held the tears back because she knew crying would make Caleb sob even harder – he would have seen the wetness leaking from the corners of her eyes, and it would have frightened him even more than his own pain was hurting him._

"_It's ok," Quinn had whispered then, pressing her lips against his hair. He hadn't heard. He had never heard a single word she had said in the entire course of their existence as brother and sister. But she had said the words anyway – she had pressed her lips against his downy hair, and she had uttered reassurances and tried to placate her distraught sibling._

_It had worked. Quinn had always been good at taking care of Caleb._

_But now, she was confused. She could see the tree – far away, out of reach against the horizon. But it didn't make sense. There was nothing else – nothing but tall grass waving in the wind, glancing off of her waist benevolently as she took a step towards that tree in the distance. _

_The earth shook underneath her as her bare foot hit the grass. It didn't make sense, but nothing here did. Why were her feet bare anyway? It was just another question that she couldn't answer, another question on a long list that she was already forgetting._

_Her eyes shifted from the ground beneath her feet and back towards the tree. It was a tall, majestic oak. Its branches were numerous, its base was wide. Quinn could just make out the ropes hanging down from an outstretched limb, the rubber tire that made for a perfect childhood pastime hanging between them. But the tree looked farther away than it had only moments before. Quinn's brow furrowed of its own accord, her eyes cried out louder than spoken words ever could, and she hoped that she was wrong._

_She took another step to confirm it – the tree was getting farther and farther away with each step she took towards it. Suddenly, she couldn't comprehend anything less than reaching that tree, that swing. She had to reach the tree, she had to. There must be a reason that only the tree was in this barren landscape with her. If it was the only thing she could see, she had to get there – she had to run, she had to run as fast as she could._

_Her bare soles flattened the stalks of the prairie grass as she ran. And the harder she ran, the smaller the tree became. "No," she gasped out, "please." But her words were ripped from her throat on a sob that she hadn't realized was even forming within her – it came from a place of terror and confusion and uncertainty, and Quinn couldn't stand any of those things on a good day. And this was not a good day._

_Her legs were pumping so fast underneath her that she finally reached a point where they gave out. Her calves and thighs were burning, every inch of her muscles was on fire. And she crumpled like a paper crane between a clenched fist. Her arms splayed out in a failed attempt to catch herself, and her face hit the ground with a bruising thud. Another ragged sob escaped from her quivering body, but it sounded far away and weak. A shadow of a memory of a cry, little more. A ghostly sound carried away on the wind._

_Quinn's fingers clenched, grasping tightly onto the grass next to her face. Her eyes were closed as she attempted to settle her breathing. Her hold on the grass served as an anchor to whatever reality it was she found herself in. The grass was tangible – she could feel it and see it and smell it. If she could seize onto that fact, maybe she could pull herself up and out of this place._

_Her fingers flexed once more, and several blades broke off into her hands. Quinn opened her eyes and stared at the grass in her open palm. It was only then that she noticed the color. The grass was grey. But so was Quinn's hand. She blinked and lifted her head, and she realized that it wasn't just the wicked clouds swirling in the sky or the grass in her hand or her hand itself – it was everything. _

_Everything was grey._

_But the importance of the color faded. Because when Quinn pushed herself to her knees, she found herself staring directly at the old oak tree. It had suddenly appeared right next to her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And not ten steps away from her was the tire swing that she and Caleb had played on as children – the swing that they had played on well into their teenage years and young adulthood. It was the place they had come to talk, out in this old disused field a mile or so from where they had grown up. There had been a barn as well, some other trees, a couple pieces of broken, abandoned farm equipment that Caleb had liked to play on at times._

_Now, there was only Quinn. And the tree. And the swing. And the tall blades of grass. And it was all shades of grey, like a beautiful black and white movie from an almost forgotten time, a recollection of a dream or a passing glimpse into another world. _

_And Quinn was afraid to blink._

_Because someone was sitting on her swing._

_It was her swing. It belonged to her and her brother. And maybe it wasn't exactly their property, but they had staked a claim over it a long time ago. Years ago. And they had reinforced that claim with love and childhood memories and laughter and tears and their initials carved inside the smooth rubber on the inside lip of the tire._

_And now someone was sitting on Quinn's swing. They were pushing back and forth, their toes barely making contact with the ground each time. The stalks of grass brushed along the bottom of the tire swing, against the material of the person's jeans. Quinn narrowed her eyes in their direction – not from any ill will towards them for infringing on her territory, but mostly from confusion and intrigue._

_Quinn didn't know why she was here. Maybe this person did._

"_Excuse me," Quinn called out as she pushed herself up off of the ground. Her knees were stained with dirt – grey and wet from some previous moisture that had saturated the soil. She brushed them off and winced as she noticed that she had skinned the heels of her hands during her fall._

_The person didn't respond. They just kept kicking leisurely back and forth, swaying to and fro, obviously not noticing Quinn or perhaps not caring to pay her any mind._

_Quinn moved closer, brushing off the front of her khaki shorts she was wearing and grimacing as she noticed how dirty she had gotten her white t-shirt._

"_Excuse me," Quinn tried again. She reached forward to tap on a shoulder hidden by long, dark hair. But she never got to tap on the shoulder because the person was suddenly spinning around._

"_Oh, Quinn!" the girl exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."_

"_Uhh…" _

_Quinn couldn't form words. She just didn't know how or what or why or any other context clues to help her figure out what to do._

_She was lost._

_The mysterious girl quickly caught on to Quinn's confusion. "Oh honey," she said, pulling herself up and out of the tire swing, "I hope I didn't frighten you."_

"_You didn't frighten me," Quinn replied. The words came unbidden to her lips, and she said them without thought or consideration because they were true. This beautiful girl standing in front of her wasn't a threat. In fact, she seemed like some kind of beacon of hope in this place of uncertainty and doubt and despair, in this place where time and distance seemed irreconcilable and confusing._

_The girl took a step towards Quinn. "I'm glad," she said. And Quinn was glad too, even though she couldn't explain why. "You look younger than I remember." The girl's voice was reverent now as her eyes traced across the features of Quinn's face. "Barely older than I am now…" But instead of feeling self-conscious or vulnerable or confused as to why this person was examining her so closely, Quinn felt something else. Maybe it was comfort or belonging or safety or…_

_Maybe it was all of those things. _

_Maybe Quinn felt loved._

_So when the girl stepped even closer – when she stood a few inches in front of Quinn's face and reached out as if she was about to cup Quinn's cheek in her palm – Quinn didn't move an inch. She didn't retreat because she was more captivated by this girl standing in front of her than anything her heart could ever remember. "Who are you?" Quinn whispered._

"_I'm Rachel." She didn't seem put-off in the slightest that Quinn hadn't recognized her. "You don't remember me?" Quinn shook her head. "How old are you?" _

_Quinn blinked twice as she tried to think about the question, but numbers were escaping her and she just didn't know. "I don't remember," she finally answered._

"_That's ok," Rachel was quick to reassure, her hand still outstretched between them as if she had momentarily sunk into uncertainty as to whether or not she should continue._

"_You can touch me," Quinn said, biting her lip. "I mean," she almost stumbled on her words, "you can try. This place… It's strange, and I'm not sure it will work. The tree…" she trailed off, gesturing towards the tree next to them, her eyes shifting briefly to the tire swing just over Rachel's right shoulder. "It's as if I only got here when all hope was lost. Like this place only gave me the tree when I had nothing else to offer."_

"_So you're not sure if I can touch you?"_

_Quinn swallowed thickly and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to form the words to explain. As she was thinking, she quickly wondered whether or not Rachel would still be there when she opened her eyes again, so she snapped them open and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the still present brunette. "I think I want you to be able to touch me," Quinn tried to explain, her voice escaping in the softest of whispers across lips. "I want you to be able to touch me, and I want to be able to touch you. And I'm scared that it can't happen until I have nothing left to lose. And in this place –" she gestured around them "– I'm not sure what else it is that I have to lose. And that scares me. So touching you, it might mean losing something I didn't even know I had…"_

_Instead of looking confused at Quinn's attempt at logic, Rachel simply smiled. "I know you don't remember me right now, and that's ok. In fact, the you in here doesn't remember the me from out there, and the me who is out there probably won't remember the you from in here. But you'll come to learn that nothing can keep us apart, Quinn. We're stronger than that – all of the negativity and the trying times and whatever else the world has to throw at us. We're stronger than all of that."_

_Quinn didn't know what Rachel meant because she really didn't remember. Instead of feeling bad for the gaping holes in her memory, Quinn just reached her hand out towards Rachel's and said, "Show me."_

_The air shimmered and shifted uncontrollably as their hands neared each other. A swirling, beautiful mirage of colors formed between their outstretched fingertips, the only color palette in this bleak landscape. Just a little closer, that was all. Quinn's brow furrowed and she held her breath and pushed her hand closer and closer to Rachel's. The colors were churning so fast and violently, mimicking the angry, grey clouds above their heads. But still, Quinn and Rachel reached for each other._

_And finally, skin touched skin. The strange mirage of colors that had formed between their palms exploded outward. Quinn's eyes eagerly took in the sight of her hand pressing against Rachel's as her hair buffeted against her face in a sudden rush of wind – she relished the solid feel of human contact against her skin. But the explosion of colors distracted her, and she turned to look at the arrays of browns and greens of her tree and its leaves and the prairie grass around their waist and the worn, fraying rope that led to the black rubber of the tire swing._

_It was all so crisp and clear, and Quinn nearly cried out with joy as the heavens opened up above them and sweet raindrops began to fall down on their heads. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance as Quinn turned back to Rachel – the girl who was keeping her grounded and sane when before she had been anything but. As she stared into the most beautiful brown eyes she had ever seen, Quinn felt her body warming and her cheeks flushing._

_Home._

"_There she is," Rachel said, reaching out with her free hand and finally cupping Quinn's cheek, gently caressing and holding and loving._

_The rain drops poured down on them, but it was as if they couldn't touch them. They were phantom drops, splattering on their noses or their shoulders or their outstretched arms before fading away into nothingness – little more than a cool splash of moisture for a single fraction of a second before disappearing._

"_Here I am," Quinn whispered back. And though Rachel was smaller than her by several inches, Quinn felt herself leaning forward and letting the other girl wrap her up in a comforting embrace._

"_Shh," Rachel whispered as she pressed her lips against Quinn's cheek in a chaste kiss. Because Quinn was crying, and neither of them were entirely sure as to why. Rachel slowly lowered them to the ground, leaning back against the familiar bark of the oak tree where Quinn and Caleb had long ago carved their initials in faux ownership, and she held Quinn to her chest._

_Quinn rested her ear against the crook in Rachel's shoulder, and her body continued to be racked with sobs that she couldn't control if she had wanted to. Something was hurting now – it was aching painfully, and she couldn't stop it. It was causing her legs to curl up against her chest and her hands to fist tightly in the material of Rachel's shirt and her eyes to squeeze shut in the hope that it would all just dissipate from her body._

_Rachel's hands soothed her hair back away from her face as raindrops pelted the ground around them, falling precariously through the many leaves above them before reaching their final destination and disappearing. Thunder shook Quinn, and she pulled herself even closer to Rachel. Which should have been impossible. But this place seemed full of possible impossibilities, so she probably shouldn't have been surprised._

_With her ear pressed so tightly against Rachel, Quinn could discern a faint, precious sound. Rachel's heartbeat, it was soft and perfect and just there beneath Quinn's face. It began to calm her – even though something was still radiating torturous pain outward from somewhere inside of her chest._

_Quinn realized with sudden clarity that she could not feel her own heartbeat. Where Rachel was warm and comforting and pulsing with life, Quinn felt cold and empty and as if she was nothing more than her own excruciating pain._

"_Tell me a story," Quinn managed to softly gasp out from between her parted lips. She unclenched one of her hands from the now-wrinkled material of Rachel's shirt and brought it up to hold onto the smooth skin of Rachel's neck. Her fingers trailed lightly over sun-kissed skin, her knuckles gently brushed against the underside of Rachel's jaw._

"_A story about what?" Rachel asked, running her fingers through Quinn's long, blonde hair._

"_Anything."_

_Quinn felt the vibration in Rachel's chest as she hummed quietly, a noise from her throat of something akin to consideration, contemplation. And then she was speaking. Quinn thought – just maybe – that Rachel's voice was fitted for song. _

_The girl's words began flowing from some place deep inside of her that Quinn thought she could almost reach out and touch – some place full of warmth and compassion, hope and reassurance, familiarity and love._

_Love._

_The pain began to fluctuate; ebb and flow. It would reach its painful peak, and Quinn would immerse herself as fully as she could in Rachel's voice. Then the pain would recede, fading back into some place far away inside of Quinn that she could ignore, choosing to focus instead on the suppleness of Rachel's skin, the scent of strawberries and freshness and maybe the slightest hint of vanilla every time the rain-infused breeze would sweep through her hair._

_And in each of these lows – in each of these recesses between the tremor-inducing pain – Quinn would feel herself slipping away. It was just there, at the edge of her vision – a beautiful array of colors that represented happiness and ease and freedom. Her eyes were already shut, all she had to do was let go. All she had to do was sleep._

_But every time Quinn found herself slipping closer and closer to that restful place – that place free of whatever was causing her body's misery – Rachel would speak louder. She would speak louder or scratch her fingernails lightly down Quinn's arm or even shake her the slightest bit. Every time Quinn felt herself letting go, Rachel would grab a hold of her, keep her grounded, keep her awake._

_But Quinn was so, so tired already._

"_Rach," she whispered against the fabric of Rachel's t-shirt. "Please," she moaned. And the moan was so soft that it was effectively lost in a roar of thunder._

"_I can't, Quinn," Rachel replied, tightening her grip around Quinn's shoulders and rocking them back and forth together. "I can't let you sleep."_

_"Why not?"_

_Rachel shook her head, and Quinn felt wetness against her cheeks. But it was from Rachel and not from herself – it was Rachel's tears. "I don't know, baby," Rachel choked out. "I just know that I can't let you sleep. I have to hold onto you, I have to keep you here. Please don't leave me." Despite the pain that was once more surging to every nerve-ending in Quinn's body, she could hear the desperation in Rachel's voice._

_And it finally pulled her back to reality._

"_I'm not leaving you," Quinn managed. "I would never leave you."_

_Quinn didn't know this girl. Not really. But she felt like she was home, and she felt loved. And whatever those feelings were – whatever they really meant – Quinn didn't know for sure. But when she told Rachel that she wouldn't leave, she meant it with every fiber of her being._

_And as soon as the words left her lips, the pain stopped._

_It didn't fade away. It didn't slowly recede or ebb like the tide of the ocean away from the shore._

_It was just…gone._

_Quinn's hands fell limply down to rest in Rachel's lap as her body finally found itself in a state of relaxation. The material of the other girl's jeans was dark, and it contrasted starkly with Quinn's pale fingers. She trailed them up and down Rachel's thighs, and it wasn't surprising in the least when a strangled laugh laced with hope escaped from the brunette._

"_I would never leave you either," Rachel murmured, tilting Quinn's head back gently and pressing their lips together. "And certainly not when you need me the most."_

_The clouds parted. A bright, yellow ball of sunshine floated above them in the sky as they moved to lie underneath the tire swing. Rachel's arms were wrapped around Quinn's shoulders, holding her tightly, protectively to her side._

_Time didn't really exist as the swing swayed gently back and forth over their heads, its shadow occasionally blocking the sun entirely from their vision._

_Quinn's fingertips trailed over the tiniest portion of exposed skin between the hem of Rachel's shirt and the top of her jeans. "Sing me a song," she said softly. Her eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes tickling the skin of Rachel's neck as they did so._

"_What kind of song?" Rachel asked in return. But her lips quirked upwards at the corners, knowing Quinn's answer long before it was spoken aloud._

"_Anything."_

_When Rachel began singing, Quinn once again felt everything slipping away. But this time, it was peaceful and unaccompanied by pain. This time, the light at the edge of her vision was the purest form of white imaginable – the previous maelstrom of colors nothing more than a memory of a memory of something almost forgotten._

_And this time when Quinn began to fall asleep, Rachel just kissed her forehead and continued to sing._


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **I don't even know why y'all put up with me. Hope you enjoy this chapter though.

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn was waking up. And it was little more than a gradual ascension to self-awareness. It felt like that moment just below consciousness after a long night's sleep, and she was trying desperately to push forward, to break through.

To wake up.

Her limbs were heavy, and she felt an almost suffocating sense of paralysis when she realized that – if only for that brief moment in time – she did not have control over herself, her body. She tried moving her fingertips, her facial features. But nothing responded as it should have. Even her vocal cords were frozen in place. Quinn felt as if she was a slave to some unseen force – holding her down, keeping her still, immobilizing her.

Then her toe wiggled. And blessed relief coursed through her entire body like the coming of the dawn, the breaking of pure consciousness over her previously inert body.

The first thing that she found herself acutely aware of was the pain.

It was probably _mild_ at most. But that didn't change the fact that it _hurt_.

Her voice seemed to flare slowly to life via the manifestation of a small, weak-sounding moan. Blood rushed uncomfortably past her eardrums as her body seemed to come to life. And then she could hear her voice – her quiet, pathetic whimpers in the darkness.

Because her eyes were opening now. And she could see that it was almost entirely dark in the small space of what she could only assume was a hospital room.

The curtains were drawn across the small window to her right, but it was obviously nighttime. And as her head tilted on her shoulders to the left, Quinn was greeted with a miraculous sight.

"Caleb?" she managed to croak out. Her throat was dry, raspy. And the words didn't really matter – just like the words from her dream, the words from a mere memory didn't matter either. They hadn't mattered from the very beginning. But sometimes all that _really _mattered was the sentiment behind the words – it was a lesson Quinn had learned a long time ago, with a crying Caleb sitting on her lap, tears soaking into the collar of her shirt...

Then Quinn was remembering the dream. She was remembering it with stunning clarity.

The field, the grass, running barefoot. That oak tree – blessed and damned in the same moment, it seemed. The tire swing, the clouds, the grey. Rachel. Beautiful, pristine, strong, confident Rachel – holding her, bringing light into the dismal, bleak landscape of Quinn's mind in the most trying of times.

But most frightening of all, Quinn was suddenly back there underneath the boughs of the huge, old oak tree. She was cradled in Rachel's arms, and indescribable pain was pulsing outward from her chest – seemingly engulfing her entire body in torturous flames of agony, licking relentlessly at her nerve-endings.

Quinn clenched her eyes shut at the memory of the radiating pain. She took a deep breath in through her nose, and, as the air circulated through her chest, she felt a tenderness in her sternum that caused her to wince. It felt as if someone had punched her. Repeatedly.

"Quinn." The sound caused her eyes to snap open once more, frantically searching the semi-darkness for Caleb's face.

"Hi," she mouthed back at him, trying not to lose whatever grasp she had on her fragile emotional state.

She watched as he moved forward, clicking on a small light above her bed. It flickered into luminescence, and Quinn was finally able to clearly see her brother's face.

Again, she tried to hold onto her composure. She had no idea what was going on, but surely her brother would have answers for her.

_Quinn_, he signed. His hands moved quickly before he moved forward, leaning down and brushing his lips against her forehead.

It was ironic, in a sense, that Quinn had reminisced in her dream about doing the same thing to him as a child. It was funny how these things could come full circle.

Caleb's hand smoothed back several loose hairs from Quinn's face, and his touch was comforting, soothing in a way that Quinn hadn't even realized she needed. _I'm glad to see those pretty eyes, _he signed as he pulled back, resting halfway on the edge of the mattress.

A soft smile on her lips indicated that she was also glad – glad to be awake, glad to see her brother. But she was really hoping to receive some sort of explanation.

She lifted her hands to sign, and quickly realized that their process of communication was going to be much slower than usual. A visible wince flashed across her face, and Caleb was quickly leaning forward, gently grabbing his sister's hands in his own. He lowered them down to rest at her sides before signing, _Just talk. I'll read your lips_.

A tear _did _escape from the corner of Quinn's left eye then, drifting down the side of her face and finding itself absorbed by the pillowcase under her head. Again, Caleb's hand darted out – his thumb gently wiped away the tear track, and Quinn leaned into his touch.

It felt good not to be alone in all of this.

"Tell me what happened," Quinn said. Her voice was shallow, but it didn't matter. Caleb just needed to see the path her lips took. She spoke as if she was speaking to a hearing person – if she slowed down, talking more exaggeratedly, she knew that it would only make things more difficult for her brother to understand.

She watched as Caleb nodded, and then he was off, signing away like his life depended on it.

Though maybe Quinn's did. She didn't know yet.

_The doctors call it an arrhythmia. They've done lots of tests on you since you were admitted yesterday afternoon__ – _here, Quinn blanched, not having realized that she had been out for so long_ – __and the specific type of arrhythmia is a paroxysmal atrial tachycardia._

Here, he paused. Quinn had to pay close attention as many of the words Caleb was throwing at her were of the medical terminology variety. She was impressed though, since it seemed that Caleb had really paid attention to everything he had learned from the doctors.

It was a lot to take in.

_The condition, Quinn, it led to a mild heart attack._

"What?" Quinn asked, completely shocked. She was only twenty-four years old. She couldn't have a heart attack, this didn't make any sense. "A...heart attack?"

Caleb nodded his head with a small, sad smile of understanding. He had been given the opportunity to process this. But Quinn had only just come back to the land of the living, and she was having to learn it all in one fell swoop.

_They've traced it back to a genetic disorder. Our parents,_ he made a scoffing gesture with his hand, _they did good by us, right?_

Quinn's laugh was short and bitter as she realized that Caleb was the only person in her room – her parents were nowhere in sight.

She wasn't surprised in the slightest.

But it was bittersweet, really, that the same parents who had given her such a wonderful, loving sibling had also passed on genetics capable of causing such devastating health consequences for each of their children.

Quinn's first instinct was to protect her brother. "You should be tested, to see if you_ –_"

He held up a hand to silence her. _It's ok_, he signed. _That was one of the first things they did this morning after your test results came back. I'm clear._ Quinn sighed in relief, her shoulders falling back down on the pillow beneath her. _Just, ya know, I can't hear._

He grinned goofily, and Quinn would have reached up to punch his shoulder – if she had the energy. But she didn't. So she just rolled her eyes and said, "What else?"

_Your doctor said that you're in such good shape that whatever symptoms might have manifested over the past several months to a year, you probably didn't even notice. Or they were so mild that they could have easily been ignored. And the heart attack itself would have been much worse, but you're in great shape._

Quinn began to consider these symptoms that Caleb spoke of. And it was suddenly as if the past school year was rushing back to her in flashes.

**The first day of classes. Rachel turning back, signing to Quinn. Her heart beating rapidly in her chest, pounding against her ribcage.**

**Going for a jog one day. Feeling her heart beating so hard that she was afraid random strangers on the street would be able to hear it if she couldn't get it under control.**

**Thinking that her slightly accelerated heartbeat was from inappropriate dreams, nothing more.**

**Getting caught staring across the room by Rachel. Elbow slipping, heart racing.**

**Sitting next to Rachel on that bench at Sectionals. Feeling her heart skip a beat or two.**

**Lying next to Rachel in the hotel room in New York City. Cocking her ear just so and trying to convince herself that she could feel Rachel's heart beating in time with her own**

**Quinn imagining that the all too common occurrence of her heart beating fiercely inside her chest was connected to the introduction of Rachel to her life.**

All of those moments when Rachel's presence – her voice or her intoxicating touch or even a mere look from across a room – had made Quinn's heart beat faster. They shouldn't have done so, _not like that_. And now, Quinn was learning that it was just _coincidence._ It was Quinn's heart that was the problem – not _emotionally_, but _physically_.

Her eyes blinked unseeingly as she tried to process. But then Caleb was signing again, and she had to focus on his movements.

_And that girl, Rachel, she was there and immediately got you help. She saved your life._

"Did she say what happened? I don't remember..." She felt bad that she couldn't remember. She felt bad that she had left Rachel in that situation _period._ It shouldn't have happened. She could have sought out medical attention months before, and Rachel never would have had to deal with her... her _heart attack _at all.

_Yes, she told me everything._

At the word '_everything_', Quinn had to immediately school her features into curiosity instead of apprehension. '_Everything_' could mean a hell of a lot more than Caleb thought. So she waited for him to continue instead of jumping to conclusions. After all, Rachel was the one who left the post-it note with **108**written on it – a sign that they only had a set period of time to go before they could be themselves, before they could be together. Surely telling Caleb wasn't something Rachel would have taken into her own hands – and certainly not in this scenario.

_You fainted,_ Caleb continued, not noticing or choosing not to comment on Quinn's slight shift in demeanor, _and she said she rushed forward to make sure your head was alright. I think you hit it on the floor_. Quinn reached up and gingerly touched the left side of her skull. There was a discernible knot just under the skin. _She tried to shake you, I think, trying to get you to regain consciousness. When she realized that you were out cold, she ran for help. Apparently that music teacher, Mr. Rumba, was still there. They came back to your room, Rachel used his cellphone to call for an ambulance, and then they monitored your pulse. At one point, your heart rate was dangerously slow. Mr. Rumba has had CPR training, so the operator instructed him to start chest compressions. That's why your chest is so sore, I'm sure._

Quinn rolled her eyes heavenward as the dots started to connect – the chest compressions and the insanely overwhelming pain from her dream, it made sense in the strangest of ways.

_The paramedics took over compressions when they arrived. They said it was good that they had been started because, by the time they got you into the ambulance, your heart had stopped entirely. They used the defibrillator on you twice, Quinn._

Tears were streaming down Quinn's cheeks – because, at this point, she literally couldn't comprehend doing anything else.

_Both Rachel and Mr. Rumba rode in the back of the ambulance with you. The EMTs got your heart started again, and then the doctors took over once you got here. Your heart stopped for a short enough period of time that they weren't concerned about additional complications, but they want to keep you here a while. Just to monitor you, make sure your body responds well to the medications they've started you on._

Quinn nodded her head, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around her little brother's. She couldn't speak – there were no words. All she could do was blink through the tears and try to convey how much she appreciated Caleb's presence in that moment. And she felt extreme remorse – because the situation was scary enough hearing about it secondhand like this, but Quinn was guilt-stricken over the fact that Rachel had been witness to it all.

Rachel...

Her inner musings were interrupted by a wide yawn from her brother. He tried to hide it behind his free hand, and a bashful expression came over his face when he realized that he had been caught.

"Caleb..." Quinn said, her body language hopefully exuding the chastisement that she wanted to convey. Her eyes caught sight of the clock. It was almost midnight, certainly past visiting hours. No telling how many nurses Caleb had been forced to sweet talk into letting him stay. "You should go to my apartment. Take a shower, get some sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

It had been nice, really – comforting and _safe_ – to wake up and have her brother there to hold her hand and brush her hair back from her face and tell her that everything was going to be ok. Quinn appreciated Caleb more than anyone else in her life. But she also wanted him to take care of himself.

And Quinn had a lot of thinking to do.

Caleb nodded, reaching forward to cup her cheek. He leaned back and signed, _I think that's a good idea. I just wanted to be here when you woke up._

"And now I'm awake, and everything is fine," Quinn reaffirmed. "Go, rest."

_I'll see you in the morning,_ Caleb signed. He grabbed his coat from where it was draped over the lone chair in the room, and he headed towards the door. Turning back to Quinn's bed, he stood there for a few moments, just taking in the sight of his sister on that hospital bed with those pristine, white sheets wrapped around her body. Then he waved goodbye, and he was gone.

The echo of the door clicking into place pounded against Quinn's head. It was only then that she realized there was an acute pain radiating through her skull – a building headache of epic proportions. The light was only antagonizing her pain, stoking it into a brighter flame. She reached over her shoulder to pull on the cord that she had seen Caleb yank on earlier. With a snap, the room was immersed into almost complete darkness.

Quinn blinked a few times. There was a pale source of light from outside the window and the faintest strip of light from the other side of her room's door. Her mind was racing a mile a minute – far faster, perhaps, than it should have been. She needed to rest – she could _feel that_, all the way down to her bones. She had been asleep for no telling how long, but her body was tired. Her mind, however, was keeping her from slipping down into that peaceful place of rest and rejuvenation and contentment. And one thing was at its forefront.

Rachel.

A light tap resounded in the room. Quinn's eyes, which had begun to droop closed of their own accord, were suddenly opened and searching for the source of the noise. A shadow passed in front of the window, and another tap was easily discernible in the otherwise serene calm. Quinn breathed in and out deeply through her nose, attempting to keep her breath – and her now unforgettable and more noticeable than ever irregular heartbeat – under control.

It was as if Quinn's thoughts alone had been enough to conjure up one Miss Rachel Berry, as the girl was now pushing open the hospital room's window from the outside, and shimmying in through the tight space only to gain a firm grasp on the table underneath the windowsill and lower herself down to the ground.

"What the..." Quinn breathed. Her tone was laced with incredulity and humor and relief all at once. She couldn't help the smallest of smiles that was forming on her lips, despite the tear tracks that still graced her cheeks.

Rachel dusted off the back of her jeans and straightened her shirt. And all the while, Quinn realized that the other girl was avoiding direct eye contact with her.

"Did you really just break into my hospital room?" Quinn asked, her smile faltering when Rachel's eyes remained on the floor.

Rachel walked forward, and Quinn noticed a hesitancy in her steps that she hadn't seen. Not for months. It was suddenly as if Quinn could see the physical manifestations of regression – the devolution of Rachel's improvement that had been happening throughout the entire school year. Rachel was there in Quinn's hospital room, but she was also the girl who had cradled Quinn's head to her chest in her dream and begged, "_Please don't leave me._"

For some reason, the inconceivability of Rachel hiding her voice from the world once more caused Quinn's eyes to tear up – her brows furrowed and her throat constricted painfully.

"Rach," Quinn whispered. And now _she_ was the one pleading. _Talk to me_, her words silently implored. _Don't do this_, she begged with her eyes in the darkness. _Please_.

Smoothing out wrinkles that couldn't possibly exist in her skin tight jeans, Rachel delicately lowered herself down into the chair at Quinn's bedside. She silently scooted forward a few inches, her knees pressing into the bed linens. A soft rustling of fabric on fabric and the sounds of unrushed breathing filled the silence between them.

"Hi," Quinn finally spoke after several minutes had passed by with no progress. Her fists involuntarily clenched at her sides on top of the sheets. She wanted _so badly_ to reach out, to touch Rachel's wrist and lace their fingers together. She was loathe to admit how _scared _the situation had made her – waking up in the hospital, finding out about her condition and the fact that she had suffered from a mild heart attack. Lying there on her classroom floor, heart stopped with Rachel kneeling next to her – concerned and terrified and completely unsure as to what was going on...

_Hello_, Rachel signed. She _signed_, and Quinn felt so confused. It was rigid and formal, and Quinn already missed the movements of Rachel's lips.

"I..." Quinn hesitated, uncertain as to how to move forward. "I can't really sign," she said, feeling that it was necessary to explain. It felt wrong, for some reason, to _speak _to Rachel when the girl was voluntarily choosing to sign after all this time. "My chest, it-it hurts and... It's just uncomfortable, is all."

She felt like a stuttering teenager.

_It's ok_, Rachel replied. And Quinn breathed the tiniest sigh of relief when Rachel's eyes connected with hers – when she saw in those chocolate depths the same aching feeling she herself was experiencing in her own heart.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," Quinn began. But Rachel quickly cut her off.

_You have nothing to be sorry for,_ she signed, her movements fervent.

But then Rachel's face fell. The mask she had been holding up since climbing in through the window like a lithe little ninja dropped to the floor and shattered. And when she looked back up at Quinn – when their eyes connected and their hearts met somewhere in the air between them – tears were shimmering in her eyes and her chin was trembling and Quinn couldn't breathe because of the pure emotions radiating from the girl who had become her counterpart somewhere along the way.

_But you can't scare me like that again. You can't, Quinn,_ she signed, biting her lip. Quinn could see Rachel's chest falling as her tears began to spill over. She was trying _so hard_ not to cry, she was holding back to such a degree that Quinn felt _herself _absolutely falling apart.

"Baby," Quinn choked on the word. If only she could convey everything that hadn't been said out loud between them in those two syllables – _I love you_, she said; _Please hold my hand_, she said; _I've needed you from the first moment_, she said. But really, all she managed was that choked utterance, that ragged exhalation of breath on which she attempted to speak volumes... All that came out was '_baby_', and she hoped that it was enough.

Rachel's facade crumbled entirely as her eyes shifted back to Quinn's from where they had fallen onto her own hands in her lap. _I-_ she began to sign, then a sob escaped her throat. Quinn leaned forward, fighting through the pain and trying to reach out to Rachel – because she couldn't _stand_ to see Rachel cry, she couldn't bear to be the reason for her tears.

As Quinn gasped at the pain blossoming across her bruised chest, Rachel abruptly stood, tears still streaming down her own face. She softly placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder, guiding her back down to her pillows. Quinn's eyes could do little more than flit frantically across Rachel's features, silently begging for some clue as to how she could make Rachel ok again.

Rachel remained standing ramrod straight at Quinn's bedside. She trailed the fingers of her right hand down Quinn's arm, gracing them lightly over the other girl's fingers before bringing them up in front of her and signing, _I can't lose you too._

There it was. Quinn realized it with startling intensity. Rachel's deep-seated fear of being alone, of losing the people most important to her in her life – it had never disappeared entirely, always floating somewhere just below the surface.

And Quinn falling to the floor in front of her – barely breathing, heart beating only faintly, being shocked back into life in front of the girl's eyes – was not conducive to Rachel's healing process.

Quinn remembered reading Rachel's vignette the semester previous. She remembered seeing through Rachel's ten-year old eyes as her fathers were stripped from her, taken away by circumstances that no one could have ever foreseen. Rachel was left alone with a mother who she had never known and a sense of guilt that no child should ever be burdened with. In the wake of it all, she had been consumed by her own silence. It had been safe, her silence – a place where no one could touch her and she could touch no one.

But that had all fallen apart when Quinn walked into Haverbrook. Quinn had helped Rachel to dispel her silence – to break free and be the girl she was, perhaps, always destined to be. But there was more. There was _so much more_, and Quinn was seeing it now – written plainly across Rachel's wet cheeks and her pleading eyes and her broken expression.

_I can't lose you too,_ Rachel signed again.

Quinn refused to be another chapter of abandonment in the story of Rachel's life.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby girl," Quinn whispered. If a door had slammed or the air conditioner had kicked on, her words would have been lost entirely. They were as quiet as the breath that now left each girls' parted lips.

But Rachel heard. Because Rachel had never been able to _not_ hear Quinn. Just like Quinn had been hearing Rachel from the very beginning – long before she ever even opened her mouth.

Quinn lifted her hand, beckoning Rachel closer. "Please," she said once more. "Lie down with me."

Rachel hesitated, chest still moving laboriously as she tried to control her maelstrom of emotions.

"I've always needed you, Rachel," Quinn breathed, hand still suspended, empty, in midair. "Now is no different."

Rachel's eyes squeezed shut. Quinn could practically see the battle taking place in her mind: Rachel could run away, climb back through that window and allow herself to be embraced by the night and the darkness and her impenetrable silence; or she could step forward and wrap her arms around Quinn's waist and rest contently in the embrace of their love.

When Rachel's eyes opened and she took a step forward, Quinn let out a sound that was somewhere between laughter and a ragged sob. She opened her arms, and Rachel's small figure was pressed against her side within seconds, tenderly avoiding anywhere Quinn might have been sore.

The silence engulfed them – and it wasn't the frightful silence of Rachel retreating, it was the silence of togetherness and comfort.

"I love you," Quinn whispered, pressing the side of her face against Rachel's forehead. Sleep was already falling over her like a peaceful shroud.

Rachel's fingers flexed, brushing against Quinn's collarbone. And just when Quinn was drifting away into unconsciousness, Rachel replied, "I know," and Quinn fell asleep with a smile on her lips.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Hi. Ok. So. I always – _always_ – reply to all of my reviews before I even sit down and _think_ about writing the next chapter. This time was my exception, and I wrote without replying. So please don't think I just ignored you if I normally answer you! I fully intend on answering every review I've gotten since I last updated as well as any new reviews I get, of course.

Enjoy!

**The Silence of Silence**

_The water was hot as it pounded almost painfully against Quinn's back. But the thick steam wrapped comfortingly around her, swirling from her head to her toes and back again, soothing strained muscles that she hadn't realized were strained in the first place and allowing her breath to enter her lungs in deep, even inhalations._

_It felt peaceful. It felt safe. It felt warm and..._

_It felt like home._

_She turned slowly on the spot, feeling the water pulsing against her back and then her sides and then her chest as she rotated. Her feet stopped, pointing at the source of the water. She thought it odd for only a moment that the water seemed to be coming from a shower head suspended in midair. No plumbing. She lazily glanced down at her feet. Neither was there a drain – but the water was flowing away from her in a thousand tiny rivulets, so there must be a destination. Somewhere. The water was moving down her body – between her breasts, down the flat planes of her stomach, dipping beyond the apex of her thighs, trailing down her legs and her toes – and then it was slipping away towards nothingness._

_No. Not towards nothingness. Towards something, somewhere. Something Quinn could not see, some place she could not comprehend._

_Her brain was fuzzy, so she turned back to the stream of water, inching forward slightly, her toes pushing smoothly against the cool marble tile under her toes._

_Another fleeting moment in which Quinn comprehended the oddities of this place passed over her in a wave – how cold the tile was against the bottoms of her feet, yet how hot the water was as it poured down her body._

_A soft 'tap tap', and Quinn's eyes drifted shut. Something was coming. She should have known – she should have known it was too good to be true, this place. Her breath was catching and the steam was swirling thicker, faster than before. Her eyes were blinking rapidly as her head moved from side to side, trying to see into the distance, trying to see beyond the walls of steam and nothingness to the __**something**__ that was waiting out there, somewhere._

_She was pivoting, placing her weight on her toes and preparing to spin around, preparing to turn and futilely search within the nothingness behind her. But before she could turn, the tapping ceased and the softest of touches was manifesting painfully slowly against the small of her back._

_Quinn stopped. She couldn't move. But she could suddenly breathe again – as if the person who had just touched her had also filled her lungs with oxygen and her body with life. She had been scared, but she wasn't anymore. It didn't make sense to be scared. This was safety and peace and comfort._

_And home._

_Quinn's eyes drifted shut, and her head lolled back and to the side, stretching her muscles and exposing her neck to the stream of water above her._

_The hand that had touched the small of her back began to move in circles. A groan involuntarily escaped her lips – and though it was involuntary, Quinn felt no remorse at its departure. The fingertips of one hand were soon joined by the fingertips of another – kneading and caressing and touching and loving her exposed skin to such a degree that, if this place had been what Quinn could only imagine as 'real life', she was certain she would lose all ability to hold herself upright._

_But her knees did not give out, and the hands on her back did not cease their movements. They traveled lower, soothing away Quinn's every anxiety with each droplet of water they pushed downward. She was almost painfully aware of her nakedness as the purpose of the hands shifted from light touches to a firm grasp on her hips. She felt a slight exertion of pressure as they gripped tighter against her flesh – pleasantly so – and then the barest whisperings of skin on skin._

_The body behind her was warm, and she felt hardened nipples pressing against the middle of her back. It was a sudden, overwhelmingly powerful shot of electricity straight down to her core. And her mouth opened and her shoulders tensed and her entire body shuddered as she moaned at the feelings._

_At all of the feelings. She felt everything, she felt it all – and it was almost too much._

_"Rachel," she breathed into the steam and the water and the nothingness. "Where did you come from?" she questioned._

_Because it wasn't a question of whether or not her Rachel was pressed lightly against her back in that moment. It was a question of how on earth this was real – how she could feel all of these things, how they could be here..._

_It was erring on the side of too much for comprehension. But then Rachel was there – with her delicate touch low and forward on Quinn's hips and her stomach pressing into Quinn's ass and her breasts_–

_"I've always been here, Quinn." It was so simple, such an innocent phrase. 'I've always been here,' she said. But Quinn felt like it was so much more than that – as her body began to positively __**ache **__with want and need, she __**knew**__ it was more than that. And Rachel had always been so much more than just __**simple**__ that it should have been expected that she'd have more to say. _

_"I've always been here, and you've always been there. We were...elsewhere, but I think our hearts were always together, Quinn."_

_"Always?" Quinn's word was softly uttered, almost lost on a passing cloud._

_"Always," Rachel reiterated, and Quinn felt the other girl's forehead press against the smooth skin between her shoulder blades. Soft lips were pressing against a freckle that Quinn could only ever see if she craned her neck over her shoulder towards a mirror. But she knew it was there, and she felt Rachel's lips kissing it – lightly, delicately, lovingly. And then Rachel's warm tongue was darting out, licking lightly. Quinn felt the electricity again. She moaned. "Remember the silence?" Rachel spoke, removing her tongue from flesh and causing Quinn's head to spin gloriously. "Our love, it started somewhere in between, somewhere in between a raging storm and calm waves lapping at a peaceful shore. It was born from a combination of everything good in this world – innocence and an appreciation of fear, longing looks and stolen touches, peace and chaos, sound and silence, Quinn. Somewhere in between. That's us."_

_"Somewhere in between," Quinn murmured, the side of her head now pressed against Rachel's._

_"I love you, Quinn," Rachel said, her voice strong, sincere, willing Quinn to understand that what she really meant with those words was so much more than love, more than the word could ever adequately express._

_Because there was love in the world – there was the concept and the act and everything in between._

_But they were __**more**__. Their love was more than love, more than that concept or that act alone could ever exemplify. It was them, but that wasn't all – they were nothing less than, but something greater._

_What else could explain it? What else could have drawn them together so completely, what else could have ignited the embers of their emotions and buffeted them into such fierce flames? What else could let them experience the other __**always**__ – even in a world of dreams and impossibilities, nothingness yet something, all the things in between?_

_It was love. But it was more._

_And Rachel's right hand was dipping lower, touching Quinn intimately. And Quinn's breathing would have stopped entirely if her other half hadn't been standing there, pressing roughly against her now, breathing life and air and maybe a portion of her soul that she hadn't before realized she was missing back into her body with every caress._

_"I am yours," Quinn gasped. A part of her had expected her voice to sound weak, fragile, unable to project or provide substance to the powerful words. And maybe it was just another benefit of Rachel's presence, but the words came out laced with conviction and purpose and love and strength, echoing off of walls in the distance that they could not see._

_"And I, yours," Rachel said. Her hips ground forward against Quinn's ever more realized nakedness, her fingers touched wetness that did not originate from the shower, and her heart beat in time with Quinn's._

_And somewhere far off in the nothingness, a door slammed._

* * *

Quinn's eyes remained closed. Her breaths were even, and a stray lock of hair was brushing softly against her cheek. There was an unexplained chill in the room, but it was far from uncomfortable.

There had been a jarring noise in her dream. A slam, something or someone coming or going. She wasn't sure. It had been ethereal, and the only thing she had been truly capable of comprehending in those moments was the presence of Rachel's hands – everywhere and yet nowhere all at once.

But there were the lightest sounds of shuffling now on the linoleum floor of her hospital room. That fact, however, wasn't quite processing appropriately in her mind. The fuzziness of medicated sleep was only gradually dissipating, dripping from her senses like the last vestiges of long forgotten memories, like the beads of water slipping down between her thighs to join the never-ending stream rushing off to nowhere, somewhere...

Then the slightly chilly air in her room crashed down on her along with the gross realization that she _wasn't alone_. It was cold because the window was probably still open, the window that Rachel had sneakily broken into the night before. Quinn's eyes snapped open and to her right side where Rachel was still pressed against her, face smooth and worry-free in the sweet bliss of sleep and peace. She looked untouchably pristine in that moment. When Quinn smiled, subconsciously bending her head to press her cheek against the other girl's forehead, it was completely natural. It felt right – just as right as their New York City kisses in Times Square and their fingers intertwined on bed linens between their bodies, comforting a trembling Rachel after a nightmare and watching Rachel sing on the sidewalk in front of the Hirschfeld.

A throat cleared across the room, and all of those precious memories shattered in Quinn's mind. Frantically, her eyes shifted to the end of her bed. Her mind was racing a thousand miles a minute.

_How could we so stupidly let ourselves be caught? Here, like this?_

It had been a precarious mission from day one, the controlling of her feelings for Rachel. Quinn had come out once before in her life, and it had been the type of experience she was loathe to repeat. But now that she and Rachel were inherently _more_ than merely teacher and student, the act of _coming out_ once again had been on her mind almost constantly. One hundred and some odd days signified graduation and something akin to _freedom _for them, but that was only a small victory in a much grander scheme of uphill battles. Telling people about their love, it was going to be difficult. There were right ways to go about it, and there were certainly wrong ways, ways that could ruin everything they had haphazardly built on the rocky foundation life had presented them with.

Being caught in a hospital room with her barely-legal student pressed thoroughly against her side was quite possibly at the bottom of a very long list of ways Quinn did _not_ want to 'come out' this time around.

But Quinn was met with brilliant blue eyes and a smile that she didn't recognize – but a smile that immediately and shockingly calmed her. Instead of judgment and skepticism and querying glances, the blonde woman at the foot of her bed looked mirthful. Quinn knew that she had been caught, blatantly so. But she also knew that this was not the end of life as they knew it.

"Santana sent me," the blonde said. Quinn released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The woman pulled one hand out of the pocket of her jacket, resting it on the frame at the end of the bed. "You two are pretty adorable together, you know?"

Quinn's lips quirked upwards. She actually _didn't_ know. They weren't _out_, so she and Rachel had never been complimented on their adorableness as a couple – other than a few kind glances when they had been at dinner in New York. "Umm... Thank you?" The question mark at the end of her comment of appreciation was accidental, but it helped to summarily represent her confusion in that moment.

"We've only got a couple minutes to get her out of here. Santana is down the hall attempting to distract your brother."

As the woman moved back over to the door of the hospital room, cracking it open and peeking down the hall, a light bulb clicked on in Quinn's still-hazy mind. "Oh! You're Brittany, aren't you?" She took in the tight blonde ponytail, the form-fitting jeans, and the kind facial expressions with a new found appreciation as her guest closed the door and walked back to her bedside.

Closer now, Quinn was able to momentarily lose herself in the peacefulness of Brittany's cool, blue eyes. She nodded, "Yeah! That's me." Their voices were both lowered, quietly attempting not to wake Rachel – even though they really needed to get her somewhere that wasn't Quinn's bed.

Hazel and blue eyes alike turned towards the brunette at Quinn's side. Her hands were grasping at the material of Quinn's hospital gown in her sleep, a soft mewling noise escaping from between her slightly parted lips.

"Do you think you could..." Brittany gestured towards Rachel before shifting her eyes towards the window on the far side of the room.

Quinn nodded before reaching down and swiping Rachel's bangs out of her closed eyes. She leaned forward gently, attempting not to exert too much pressure on her tender chest, and kissed the other girl's forehead. "Rach," she whispered, her lips moving softly against smooth skin. "Baby girl..."

"Hmm?" Rachel mumbled, her lips closing and the end of the syllable rising in sleepy question.

Something inside of Quinn soared with happiness and contentment – that this moment was happening, that Rachel was here with her, that she was breathing and alive to see another day with this girl at her side. "You've got to wake up, honey. My brother is almost here, and -"

Brown eyes were suddenly flashing open, locking onto Quinn's before wildly shifting over to stare at Brittany. "Oh my gosh," she gasped, rolling out from under the hospital blanket and down to the floor. She nervously began slipping on her shoes, tightening the laces and murmuring incoherent promises that things weren't as they appeared.

"It's ok," Brittany interjected as Rachel straightened up and reached for her coat. "I'm here running interference. Santana and I realized that you were here earlier, and we didn't want Quinn's brother finding you like this. So this is your opportunity to kiss your girl and get out of here before all hell breaks loose." She followed her statement with a wide grin, and Quinn would have chuckled appreciably at the sentiment – if it wasn't for the fact that she was still quite terrified by the entire ordeal.

Rachel gracefully crossed back over to Quinn's bed. She dipped down and kissed the sensitive skin near Quinn's ear before whispering, "I'll see you soon." And then she was moving a chair over next to the table she had climbed in on, stepping onto the tabletop, and shimmying out of the window. She was gone before Quinn knew it, the sight of her disappearing converse the last thing imprinted in Quinn's mind.

The clearing of a throat brought Quinn back to reality. Brittany was sitting on the edge of her bed now, one leg crossed underneath her and the other dangling in the air, kicking nonchalantly back and forth. "You seem like the type," she said, her voice soft and understanding, her eyes knowingly penetrating Quinn's, accompanied by a soft smile.

"The type for what?" Quinn replied, genuinely flummoxed.

"The type to go for the girl with the sad eyes," Brittany responded.

The door opened and Caleb and Santana walked inside the room. Santana made a beeline for Quinn, cupping her cheek and asking her how she was feeling, one hand already clasped firmly in Brittany's. Caleb stood back and gave the longtime friends their moment.

And all Quinn could do was think about her girl – her girl with the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

She didn't notice as Caleb curiously eyed the chair that had been moved across the room sometime in the night.

* * *

The pleats of Rachel's skirt rested lightly on her legs. The cool surface of the chair pressed against her thighs, and all she could do was stare at the tall, blonde substitute teacher across the room. Miss Holiday's sign language skills were clearly rudimentary at best, but Rachel found that her enthusiasm more than made up for it.

But nothing could make up for the fact that she had woken up in Quinn's arms earlier that morning, and now she was sitting across the room from the same woman's empty desk.

It had been glorious to fall asleep in Quinn's arms again, but it had been equally as startling to wake up with another presence in the room. Clearly, the blonde had been friend and not foe, but Rachel's pulse quickened and her fingertips yearned to type out a text to Quinn, seeking clarification in order to ease her troubled mind.

Until she heard directly from Quinn, Rachel had to assume that things were ok. That _they _were ok. Because assuming otherwise was no longer an option that Rachel wanted to exercise.

The bell rang, and Miss Holiday informed her students that class was over. Everyone around her was suddenly gathering their things, moving towards the exit and beyond to their next classes.

But all Rachel could do was force air into her lungs – slowly, evenly – as her eyes remained locked on the patch of ground _there_, just in front of Miss Fabray's desk.

All Rachel could see was Quinn's limp figure, all she could hear was the rushing in her ears, all she could feel was the soft skin of her own thighs underneath her clenching fingernails.

"Rachel?" Miss Holiday was crossing the room towards Rachel, her hands already moving to form the next question on her lips. "Are you ok?"

And the question hit Rachel like a ton of bricks. She opened her mouth to reply, to speak the words '_I'm ok'_ so that she could move on with her life, so that she could walk to her next class and avoid that patch of floor and the questioning glances the substitute was giving her. But _god_, it just wasn't that easy. Why couldn't things be easier? Why couldn't Rachel worry about her next test or her next term paper or her appearance or social connections or college acceptance letters like the average high school kid?

Why couldn't Rachel think about anything other than Quinn's body lying prone on the ground with her hand next to her face? And why couldn't Rachel stop drawing sickening parallels between Quinn's stalled pulse and her father's rain-soaked shoe on the dashboard of their car?

"I-I'm fine," Rachel responded, finally grabbing up her books and shoving them into her backpack. The truth was, Rachel had never been an ordinary high school kid. And it was in that instant that she realized... She'd probably never be able to stop thinking about her father's shoe on that dashboard. It would always be there to remind her of everything she had lost, everything she had done wrong.

Miss Holiday seemed momentarily taken aback by Rachel's ability to speak and – obviously – to hear, but she readily masked her surprise. "Rachel," she moved forward, not really blocking Rachel's path, but certainly keeping her from making it unimpeded to the door. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

Rachel stopped in her tracks. She glanced up into the stormy grey eyes of the woman in front of her.

Was there something she'd like to talk about?

The fact that the woman she was in love with collapsed in front of her, breathing halted, heart stopped, lifeless for undefined moments in time. The illegality of their relationship. The consequences of her childhood. The silence. The pressure that seemed to be weighing her down, forcing her chin ever lower towards her chest and her heart closer and closer to its breaking point.

That god damned shoe on the dashboard, the rain pouring down around them, the steam from the engine.

_No,_ Rachel signed, her face as expressionless as she could make it in that emotionally tumultuous moment. _Everything is fine._

Rachel could feel Miss Holiday's penetrating gaze on her back as she twisted the door handle and walked out into the hallway.

She couldn't find it in herself to care.

* * *

The afternoon brought with it choir practice. They were working on a medley for graduation. Several different groups performed every year – dance, theatre, music, choir – and Rachel should have been excited that she and her fellow show choir members were finally going to be given the opportunity to be showcased properly in front of their student body.

But she wasn't.

Halfway through practice – when Mr. Rumba was teaching Allison and Janie where middle C was – Rachel was gently tapping out a melody on the keys. She was humming under her breath when she glanced up, catching Patrick's eye from across the room. He smiled shyly at her, and Rachel smiled back.

It might have been her first real smile all day long.

* * *

Practice concluded with congratulations from Mr. Rumba on their progress with the Journey medley they were working on, and Rachel grabbed her bag and headed towards the bus.

The hallways were mostly deserted, and Rachel could hear the soles of her shoes tapping against the linoleum floor, echoing down the corridor in front of her.

As she began contemplating whether or not to make soup or _get well soon_ cookies for Quinn that afternoon, Rachel heard someone moving quickly down the hallway at her back. She turned to look over her shoulder and caught sight of Patrick's buzzed haircut and dimple-inducing smile.

_Hi Rachel_, he signed as he came up next to her.

_Hi Patrick_, she signed in return.

They continued towards the front exit in mutual silence. Rachel kept glancing to the side, taking in Patrick's almost nervous facial expressions and the way his hands were shoved deeply into his pockets, as if to keep himself from saying something before the time was just right.

When they reached the doors, he stepped in front of Rachel and opened one for her, gesturing her through. She signed her thanks before stepping out into the chilly air. She blamed the blush she felt rising on her cheeks on the cold.

As she neared her bus, she heard Patrick's voice. "Hey," he called out to her softly.

She turned back towards him, stopping entirely in the middle of the sidewalk. Her eyebrows rose questioningly.

_You seem sad lately,_ he signed. Rachel breathed in deeply through her nose, but before she could respond, he interjected. _I heard you were there when Miss Fabray fainted, but they say she's going to be fine and hopefully back at school in no time. She's lucky that you were there, Rachel._

One corner of Rachel's lips twitched upwards in an almost-but-not-quite hint of a smile. _I'm glad to know that she's ok, that she'll be back soon._

Patrick smiled wider than Rachel had yet seen at her words, and Rachel felt an inexplicable surge of guilt. _Yes, we could really use her help in choir rehearsals._

They stood almost awkwardly together for a few sparse moments. Patrick was rocking from the heels of his shoes to his toes over and over, and Rachel was lightly biting her bottom lip between her teeth and staring at the ground between them. And then Patrick was signing again, and his words instantly had Rachel's full attention.

_I was wondering if you'd be interested in going to prom with me_, he said. His body language was the perfect blend of sweet and charming, uncertain yet confident, and Rachel's heart ached as she attempted to quell the tears that had sprung unbidden to her eyes. When she didn't answer after a reasonable length of time, Patrick asked, _I'm sorry, are you seeing someone else? I hadn't realized..._

Rachel was quick to respond with a softly gestured _No_. She didn't want Patrick to think there was someone else because then he might try to figure out exactly who that _someone _was. She continued to bite her lip as she signed, _It's just a little...complicated at the moment._

He smiled sweetly at her, understandingly. _Is it too complicated to keep you from going to prom with me?_

Rachel allowed herself the brief indulgence of contemplating the question. Was it too complicated for her to go to prom with Patrick? Was it too complicated for her to dress up for the evening, have her hair done, dance to music that only she could hear, hold Patrick's hand as they walked from the car to the school gym?

Probably. It probably _was _too complicated. It would be complicated the second Rachel's eyes locked with Quinn's across the room as their English teacher chaperoned the school formal.

And Rachel really did _not_ want to hurt Patrick.

Or Quinn.

_It might be,_ she replied. _In fact, it probably is._ Patrick's smile faded slightly. He nodded his head and started to reply, but Rachel was the one to interrupt _him_ this time. _But,_ she began, _perhaps it's not too complicated for us to go to prom...as friends._

His face lit up, and Rachel decided that Patrick's happiness in that moment outweighed the discomfort she felt as her stomach clenched and her eyes stung. _Great, _he replied, _that's enough for me, Rachel_.

He didn't add the almost unspoken '_for now_' to the end of his sentence before he waved and trotted off to his own bus. But Rachel felt it. She felt the expectation, and it frightened her. A long time ago, Rachel had retreated into her own silence, and it had been a place where no one had expectations for her.

And since no one had expectations, she was never at risk for disappointing anyone at all.

Now, she had voluntarily put herself into a position where she could easily disappoint Patrick.

And, more importantly, Quinn.

Turning on her heel, Rachel bypassed the bus that would drop her off closer to home. It was cold outside, but the chill air was perfect company for her thoughts. She started walking in the direction of her neighborhood, and it became more and more difficult to blame the relentless tears streaming down her face on the harsh winter winds.


	24. Chapter 24

**The Silence of Silence**

The walk home was both longer and shorter than Rachel had expected.

Somewhere along the way, the cold and the rain had completely permeated her clothes. But the chill had seeped even deeper than that. Though Rachel was grateful for the precipitation and the frigid cold because, in a way, it added a certain satisfying layer of numbness that she desperately needed.

Her key turned deftly in the lock, and she was suddenly inside the previously empty house. Even with her added presence, it still seemed devoid of life.

And despite the comforting numbness, that recognition scared Rachel. When was it that she had let herself regress to such a shell? Overnight, it seemed. Hadn't she been doing better than ever? She thought maybe she had been, until...

She tilted her head back against the solid wood of the door, pressing firmly into it and sliding effortlessly to the floor.

The only wetness on her cheeks now was nothing more than the remnants of her walk home. As Rachel lifted a heavy hand to wipe it all away, she realized that she had no more tears left to cry – which was a relief and a burden all at once. A relief because she was burnt out on crying, and she needed to find a better way to deal with her emotions. A burden because... What if she could find no other way to handle her issues – old _and_ new? Rachel would be lying to herself if she tried to deny the fact that she had _plenty_ of those. And she had always been _dramatic_ – winning pageants and singing and dancing competitions from infancy – so an outlet was necessary. For so long, she had deprived herself of her greatest source of release – singing. Now, she had that back.

She just wasn't sure if it was _enough_.

As Rachel continued to sit – to merely _exist – _in the silence, she remembered why it was that she had found such comfort in it before. It was a place where she could _be_ – be alone, be afraid, be remorseful. She could feel anything she wanted, and she only had to rely on herself to deal with it. But now, Rachel had Quinn – and, in a sense that she had never felt before, she also had Shelby.

Rachel contemplated that things had been easier before she let herself start _caring_.

But they had also been so much harder.

There was a clock somewhere down the hall, but she couldn't see its face. And while she could feel her phone resting against her thigh – still, silent – through the material of her skirt, Rachel made no move to check the time. It had to be enough – for a while longer – to just sit there, to breathe.

Her eyes drifted shut, and Rachel forced away the images of Quinn's prone form, of her dad's shoe, of her daddy's empty pill bottle. The emptiness was hard to achieve at first, but it came – and Rachel allowed herself to sink down into it.

Just for a little while.

* * *

Rachel's clothes had dried by the time she awoke. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made her eyelashes flutter and her brain click into awareness once more.

Looking down at her side, Rachel reached for her discarded bag. She lifted it onto one shoulder before making her way into the kitchen and grabbing a tall glass. She filled it with filtered water and started to drink, and by the time she was filling the glass for round two, Shelby was entering the front door.

"Whoa," Rachel heard Shelby say under her breath. But the house was quiet, so the sound carried.

She was eagerly gulping back the second glassful – thirsty or sad, she refused to try and figure it out – as Shelby walked into the kitchen.

"Hi, honey," Shelby distractedly muttered, placing a couple of grocery bags on the kitchen island. "Do you know why there's a puddle by the door? I almost slipped."

Rachel lowered the glass away from her face and almost nervously readjusted her schoolbag on her shoulder. "Y-yeah," she said, instantly despising the fact that she had stuttered, "I walked home from school today and got pretty soaked, I'm sorry."

Something about her tone of voice had Shelby finally stopping, pausing, evaluating. "Are you ok?" she asked. Her eyes shifted from Rachel's face to the glass in her hands and back again. It was a habit that Shelby had caught onto pretty quickly, so Rachel wasn't surprised when her mother immediately seemed to go into protective parent mode.

"I'm fine," Rachel said, obviously deflecting as she sat the quarter-full glass down in the sink and moved towards the hallway. She stopped and turned back at the last second. "Do you need help putting the groceries away?"

Shelby shook her head. "No, that's alright." Rachel nodded and was out of the kitchen before she heard the woman ask again, "Are you sure you're ok?"

With her hand resting on the banister, Rachel turned halfway around and spotted Shelby leaning out into the hallway. "I'm sure," Rachel said.

And as she turned and made her way up the stairs and into her bedroom, softly closing the door behind her, she was glad that Shelby had left well enough alone.

Rachel made her way to her closet, dropping her bag next to her desk chair and kicking her shoes off. She grabbed a fresh change of clothes. The jeans were her favorites, the ones she had been wearing last night when she had snuck into the hospital to see Quinn. The sweater she chose was light grey – worn, warm, and comforting. Finally, she grabbed a pair of socks and slipped them onto her cold feet.

The numbness had now fully dispersed. But Rachel welcomed the act of feeling once more as she let herself to fall onto her bed.

The days were at their longest, but it was just getting to be late enough in the evening that the sun was slowly but surely grasping at the horizon. Her curtains were partially open, and long rays of sunlight were creeping steadily across her room, casting shadows as they retreated with the sinking sun.

After only a couple of minutes in which Rachel found herself fascinated with the lines on her ceiling, she felt the unfathomable urge to roll over and open her bedside drawer. So she did just that, and her fingers grasped the edges of the bound pages there, almost habitually.

Which was funny, since she hadn't allowed herself to look at it since she had finished and placed it in the drawer. She had almost _hidden it away_, and she wasn't sure why.

She looked at the cover, traced her fingertips over the title.

_**Maybe My Glass Was Always Too Full**_

Holding her completed Morrie project in her hands, it reminded her of all that she had once had, all that she had lost. And the bright, smiling photograph on the cover filled her vision – her and her dad, smiling, the afternoon of her ninth birthday. Her daddy had been behind the camera, and he had made some absurd face – thus the bright, genuine smiles on their faces. Captured for an eternity.

And suddenly, it hit Rachel, and it hit her _hard_. This – these pages in her hands – was the past. It was _her_ past, and that naturally made it special and worth holding onto, cherishing. But the person who had gotten her to write the words within these pages, who had helped her to open up and live again – that was _Quinn_. And Quinn was alive and breathing and _whole_.

Quinn was going to be ok. And since she was ok, that meant that she potentially held a place in Rachel's future. Skimming her fingertips over her dad's face, Rachel realized that the two men who had raised her for ten years of her life... They weren't part of her continued existence, not like Quinn could be.

Her dads had given her the opportunity for a future, but Quinn had reminded her that actually living it could be worthwhile.

Then Rachel remembered what Patrick had said outside Haverbrook, about Miss Fabray going home today.

Immediately, her mind started racing. She pulled herself up off of her bed and crossed to her desk. Snatching up a hair tie, Rachel drug her fingers through her still damp locks, pulling her hair up into a tight pony. Her mind shifted to her dilemma from earlier that afternoon.

"I could make her soup," she muttered to herself, reaching for her previously discarded cell phone, "or I could make her _get well soon_ cookies..." With a flick of her thumb, she checked her phone and noted that there was a text message waiting for her. It was from Quinn, and it helped to solidify the increasingly less _empty_ feeling in her chest.

**Hey Ray. I'm on the way back to my apartment. My brother already headed to the airport, his boss is a real hardass... Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're alright. I mean, I know that's a loaded statement. But you should know that it's ok if you're not ok – I'm here either way. In fact, I don't plan on going anywhere. Let me know, whatever the verdict happens to be.**

Rachel smiled and pressed the edge of her phone against her chin, biting her lip and tapping a finger against the hard plastic of her phone's case. "I think I'll make both," she said resolutely, heading out of her room, typing out a response to Quinn on her way.

But in the doorway, she paused. Her heart clenched as she remembered why it was that the tips of her hair resting on her shoulders were damp, why she had walked home in the rain.

Patrick.

Her smile slipped from her face as she continued to chew on her lip – nervously now, contemplating what it would all mean. But then she looked at Quinn's text again, and it gave her the affirmation that she so desperately needed.

Everything was going to be ok. She would talk to Quinn about prom, and they would work things out. Together.

**I would be lying if I said I was perfect. For now, I'll be less than ok with the knowledge that YOU are ok, and that will be enough. What kind of cookies are your favorite?**

Walking down the stairs, Rachel sent the text off. Her steps as she walked down the hall and into the kitchen were far lighter than they had been earlier that day – or anytime over the past two days, for that matter. And when she rounded the corner and caught Shelby leaning morosely against the counter, staring down at her feet, Rachel immediately felt guilty.

It must have been hard for her mother, to see her sinking back down into that dark abyss yet again

"Hey," Rachel said, slowing down slightly as she headed for the refrigerator.

Shelby's head snapped up, and Rachel's guilt swelled in her chest at the glistening she saw in the woman's eyes. "Hey, Rach."

"I was thinking," Rachel began, opening the fridge and pulling the crisper drawer towards her, "about making some heart healthy soup for Miss Fabray." She grabbed an armful of fresh ingredients and moved to place them on the cutting board. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Dabbing lightly at the underside of her eyes, Shelby sniffled once before brightening with a smile and nodding her head in agreement. "Yeah," she said, moving to grab a knife to help Rachel start chopping up the veggies. "I think that's a great idea. We'll make a big pot of it, then we'll have some for ourselves as well."

Rachel smiled up at her mom, and then – in a form of affection that she didn't normally demonstrate – she reached out and rested her hand momentarily on Shelby's bare arm, squeezing lightly as Shelby's eyes snapped down to her touch. "Thanks," Rachel said.

And it wasn't the first time that Rachel's _thanks_ to Shelby carried so much more meaning than the situation inherently warranted.

* * *

A couple hours later, night had completely fallen. Rachel climbed the stairs to her room, intent on grabbing one last thing before slipping off to Quinn's. She had gotten Shelby's permission to go, and it was as if she had overcome a hurdle she hadn't _quite_ been sure she'd be able to clear. The older woman had been almost suspiciously easy to convince, and Rachel knew that there was a level of trust there that would eventually be pushed to its limits – perhaps even shattered irreparably.

But not tonight.

While her mother packed up the vegetable soup and oatmeal raisin cookies – Quinn had texted and confirmed her favorites – Rachel was going to grab her shoes. But after slipping them onto her feet, she took a seat in her desk chair. She reached for the stack of bright green post-it notes that rested just next to the corner of her laptop.

**106**

She wrote the numbers easily – they were almost a part of her subconscious now, a mental clock that was ticking down to some far off goal. But that goal was looking more and more _reachable_ already.

Cupping the sticky note in her hand, Rachel bounded down the stairs. Shelby had placed the containers of soup and cookies on the table in the hallway, and Rachel could hear the sounds of her cleaning up in the kitchen.

"I'll be back in a little bit," Rachel called out, peeking her head into the kitchen. "You can leave the dishes, I'll do them when I get home."

Shelby turned her head and softly smiled over her shoulder. "It's fine, go ahead. Don't be out too late."

There was no indecision in Shelby's voice, and so Rachel didn't hesitate to grab her goods and the keys from the dish and head out to the car.

In the kitchen, Shelby swirled water around the inside of a bowl, ridding it of residual soap. And on her face, a small smile made itself known.

The front door clicked shut, and Rachel made her way to the car. It had stopped raining, but there was a fresh smell left hanging in the air in its wake.

Rachel started the car with bright eyes and a happy heart, deciding that it smelled a lot like the beginning of something new.

* * *

Rachel attempted to keep her trepidation to a minimum as she arrived at Quinn's apartment complex. She succeeded, to a certain extent, nervously pulling her coat tightly around her as she stepped out of her mom's car. Zipping it up a bit, she reached into the backseat to grab the food items she had prepared under the (partial) guise of concern for _Miss Fabray's_ health.

The one hundred and thirty-seven steps up the sidewalk, in and out of the elevator, and down the hall to apartment number 205 were only slightly unnerving.

Actually knocking on the door though – that was another beast entirely.

"Well," Rachel heard, and her eyes immediately snapped up to connect with dark, fiery ones that belonged to a beautiful, haughtily postured woman – a woman who was currently presenting herself as, possibly, Rachel's heretofore unforeseen greatest obstacle of the entire evening. "You've got balls, short stuff."

With her jaw – impressively – only _partially_ askew, Rachel glanced down at the jeans she was wearing. They were her favorites for a reason – they fit her superbly. And in her two-second self-perusal, she came to the conclusion that she very obviously did not possess _balls_. Which meant that her fellow doorway occupant must have intended the statement as compliment and not insult. And Rachel had immediately disregarded the comment about her obviously demure stature anyway since the other woman was _hardly _taller – and Rachel was wearing _flats._

It didn't take Holmesian deduction to figure out who the woman standing in front of her was. "It's nice to meet you, Santana," Rachel said with a courteous tone as she inched her way into the apartment. "Quinn has told me _a lot_ about you."

Rachel failed to indicate whether the things she had been told were of the flattering variety or otherwise.

Santana, with one hand on her hip and the other on the doorknob, stood back to watch Rachel's progress into the apartment. "Yep. Ballsy."

Rachel's bravado had carried her a few steps into the apartment but no further. Her eyes tracked along the hardwood floor towards the couch in the living room, instantly registering that Quinn was nowhere to be seen. Her throat seemed overly tight – it was hard to swallow, and her previously necessary coat was suddenly stifling. So when the blonde from that morning in the hospital stepped forward with a sweetly uttered, "Be nice, San," Rachel was more grateful than she could express.

The blonde grabbed the glassware from Rachel and moved towards the kitchen. "What?" Santana huffed, shutting the door and leaning against it. "It was a compliment…"

Sitting the soup and cookies down on the counter, the kind woman threw a smile over her shoulder in Santana's direction. Rachel observed them, quietly slipping out of her coat and placing it on one of the barstools. They didn't say anything else to each other out loud, but Rachel could blatantly see the infatuation they held for each other in their respective gazes.

Rachel couldn't help but momentarily wonder whether or not she and Quinn were that obvious.

She both hoped they were… And hoped they weren't.

"Thank you…" Rachel trailed off, not knowing what to actually call the woman standing across the kitchen space from her.

"Oh, I'm Brittany! Sorry, I totally forgot that you were asleep when I officially met Quinn this morning." Her smile was bright and genuine as she turned towards Rachel, leveling her with that piercing blue stare. "And you're Rachel."

"Yes, I'm Rachel. And, sincerely, thank you so much. For, well –"

"It's cool," Brittany interrupted. But whereas an ordinary interruption could easily be taken as rude or overbearing, it was hard to imagine Brittany as either of those things. In return, Rachel merely smiled – accepting that Santana's girlfriend probably knew that Rachel was thanking her for so much more than unburdening her arms and saving her from Santana.

The look on Brittany's face made it clear that she did, in fact, understand that.

With a barely noticeable wink, Brittany turned and began opening cabinets at random. "We haven't had her home long," Brittany said, apparently finding what she was looking for as she pulled a stack of bowls down from a precariously high shelf, "and she's pretty worn out. But I'm sure she'd love to see you."

Rachel bit at the inside of her cheek, tilting her head slightly towards Santana. Quinn's long-time friend pushed off the door and moved towards the kitchen counter. "Go ahead. We'll bring you guys some soup in a little while."

"Thanks," Rachel uttered softly under her breath, turning and walking down the hallway.

She had never been this far inside of Quinn's apartment, never seen the older woman's room. It filled her with a sense of excitement at the possibility.

Rachel knew that she and Quinn had gotten to know each other a lot better over their previous weekend spent together in New York – both intimately and emotionally. But she knew that there was something about the level of vulnerability she had put into her Morrie project that gave Quinn something of the upper hand – not that she meant it in a negative way, certainly. However, being able to see Quinn's natural environment – where she went to just _be _– gave Rachel a strange thrill.

And really, all Rachel wanted to do was _take care of her_. After all, Quinn had already done so much – and asked for nothing in return.

A door up ahead was partially open. The briefest of peeks inside informed Rachel that it was, in fact, Quinn's room – there was just _something_ about the light curtains and the organized desk space and even the faint sounds of cars driving by on the road beyond the window that let Rachel know exactly whom the room belonged to.

A hinge squeaked lightly as Rachel softly pushed against the dark wood of the door. It was mostly dark, the only illumination coming from the somewhat obscured closet light across the room. But it wasn't dark enough to keep Rachel from making out the sleeping form of Quinn Fabray – on top of the comforter with a light throw spread across her stomach and legs, one hand resting across her hips and the other with fingers splayed across the pillow adjacent to her face.

Rachel's fingertips gripped the edge of the door as she shakily released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding hostage in her chest.

Because Quinn had always been beautiful. But in that moment, Rachel's eyes welled up with tears at the pure exhilaration she felt upon viewing the ethereal beauty that was _Quinn_. A part of her gleefully acknowledged that she had been given the opportunity to call Quinn _hers_, and she wasn't entirely sure that she deserved the chance.

But she was going to take it anyway.

Stepping into the room, Rachel tore her gaze away from the slight rise and fall of Quinn's chest, turning to close the door. It clicked into place, and she softly shifted on her heels and treaded as lightly as possible over to Quinn's bedside. She sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out with her left hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair more securely behind Quinn's ear. Her counterpart didn't even stir, so Rachel leaned forward and pressed her lips lovingly against a smooth cheek.

Rachel's breath hitched in her throat. It was overwhelming, really, to be in such close vicinity to Quinn again. It had been an emotionally tumultuous couple of days, and yet, here Quinn was – continued living, breathing proof that an optimistic future was possible. What that future held, Rachel couldn't be certain. But she knew that she was going to face it with an open heart and a brave disposition.

She had been through so much already, what else was there left for her to lose? She felt that she could do anything now, armed with the wisdom gained from her past defeats, her ability to overcome, and the support of her loved ones.

Rachel moved her hand to cup lightly at the side of Quinn's face, brushing her thumb against her deliciously soft skin. She pressed several more lingering kisses from the sensitive area in front of Quinn's ear all the way over to the tip of her nose.

"Mmm," Quinn hummed from somewhere in the back of her throat, and Rachel felt an inexplicable urge to laugh bubble up from deep within her chest.

"Hey." Rachel trailed her hand down Quinn's neck and across her shoulder, reaching down to grasp for Quinn's hand that was resting on her hip. She laced their fingers together and brought the back of Quinn's hand to her lips, placing a light kiss and avoiding the bruise from Quinn's hospital IV. "I would say that I'm sorry to have woken you, but I'm really not," Rachel said as eyelids fluttered open, ever so slightly revealing tired but happy hazel orbs. "I missed those eyes."

Quinn grinned sleepily up at Rachel. She cleared her throat and seemed to laboriously swallow before she replied with a quiet, "Hi." Rachel saw a glass of water with a straw sitting on Quinn's bedside table, so she quickly moved to grab it, holding it in place for Quinn to drink. "Thank you," Quinn said after she was finished. Rachel sat the glass back down and was pleased to note that the other woman's voice was decidedly less raspy than before. "I missed your voice."

Rachel attempted to suppress her blush, biting her lip and pressing another kiss across Quinn's fingers. She didn't respond to Quinn directly, instead delivering her own question. "How are you feeling?" Rachel asked, standing up and pulling the blanket more securely up and over Quinn's body.

"I've definitely felt better," Quinn replied simply.

The floor creaked somewhere down the hall, and Rachel's head instinctively snapped towards the door. "Umm… Your roommate, Mr. Schuester – is he here right now? Not that it's a big deal or anything, I just brought you soup, so I don't think that's particularly suspicious."

Quinn smiled so widely that her tired eyes slipped shut. "Will was here when they brought me home, but he's had this date with Emma planned for several days. He bought tickets to a movie that she's really been wanting to see, so I told him not to stay on my behalf. Santana and Brittany were here anyway, and now you are as well."

"Yes," Rachel replied, "I am."

"Lay down with me?" Quinn questioned, the slightest of pouts falling gracefully upon her lips.

"Of course." Rachel walked around the bed, slipping her shoes off and climbing atop the mattress. As she lowered herself down onto her back, Quinn met her halfway – wrapping an arm around Rachel's petite frame and resting her head in the crook of Rachel's shoulder.

"Oh my gosh," Quinn breathed out, warm air puffing against Rachel's exposed collarbone. "I don't think I can describe this feeling."

As Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn, nuzzling the side of her face against Quinn's forehead, she didn't have to ask what feeling it was the other woman was talking about. Because she had felt it as well – bursting forth from her chest all the way down to her fingertips and her toes, curiously grabbing hold of every fiber of her being – the instant their bodies had fully come into contact.

"You don't have to explain," Rachel said. And it was true in its simplicity.

"You made cookies?" Quinn mumbled, her fingertips grasping at the hem of Rachel's shirt.

Rachel nodded, humming lightly. "Yep. I also made some soup. I think your friends are going to be bringing it in here soon for you to eat."

A reply wasn't immediately forthcoming, and the gentle ministrations of Quinn's hand against the flesh of Rachel's hip had slowed considerably by the time she replied with a quiet, "Sounds delicious."

"I brought something else for you," Rachel said a minute or so later, deciding to show Quinn before she drifted out of conscious thought.

"Hmm?" Quinn questioned, moving slightly and looking up into Rachel's adoring eyes.

"Here," Rachel answered. She shifted her hips, pressing them upwards so she could reach into her back pocket. Quinn almost _purred_ contently at the motion, and Rachel chuckled slightly, only barely reining herself in enough to keep from jokingly calling Quinn a perv.

And then the bright green post-it note was in her hand and she was showing it to Quinn and her eyes were reading the neatly written **106** and a sad smile was covering her face. And all Rachel wanted to do was make that sad smile happy again.

"Hey," she said, dropping the note down to her chest and tilting Quinn's chin up to meet her eyes. "We're beating the odds – day after day. This post-it, it's just a reminder of how far we've actually come, and a reminder of… What we have to look forward to in the future. _We can do this_, Quinn."

"For how long?" Quinn questioned.

Rachel was pleased to see that the sadness had mostly dissipated from Quinn's facial features. She pressed a kiss to porcelain skin and ran her fingers through soft, golden locks.

She contemplated Quinn's question for a moment longer before answering, "As long as it takes."

And when Quinn sighed against her once more, Rachel recognized it as a sigh of relief – of contentment.

Quinn was finally realizing that she didn't have to do this alone. And neither did Rachel.

Rachel smiled and bit her lip. She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms more securely than ever around the woman who was using her as a body pillow.

One hundred and six days wasn't impossible. But even if it _was_, Rachel thought that maybe – just maybe – she and Quinn would be the only people in the world capable of overcoming that impossibility anyway.

Quinn's lips brushed against Rachel's skin as she whispered, "One hundred and six days." Her hand rested over Rachel's stomach, catching the post-it note between them.

"Yes ma'am," Rachel replied. "I'll see you at the finish line."

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks, as always, for sticking with me. Also, for those of you who are curious – if I had to guess, I'd say there are around 8-10 chapters left. Just, ya know, FYI.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** Hello. **Please read!**

**1.** For the past year and a half, I have made it both a habit and a pleasure to reply to every single non-anonymous review I receive for any story. It has been my fortunate happenstance that I am somewhat overwhelmed by reviews for this story in particular, so I've made the decision to only respond to _direct questions_ (unless they are related to when I'm next posting) from now until the end and then _every review received for the final chapter of the_ _fic_. Please just know, even if I don't respond to you directly like I may have in the past, that I greatly appreciate every single favorite, alert, and review.

**2.** I have this story planned out in its entirety from here until the closing lines, but please be patient with me. And know that I don't plan on abandoning this.

**Brief author-generated synopsis to refresh your memory (because I know you've forgotten the entire story at this point):** Quinn Fabray is the hot new English teacher at Haverbrook School for the Deaf, but she quickly runs into and is intrigued by one of her senior students, Rachel Berry, because the girl is clearly capable of hearing but chooses not to speak (_because silence is a friend who will never betray_, of course); through a class project, Miss Fabray learns that Rachel has been under a self-imposed vow of silence since her tenth birthday when she lost both of her fathers – one physically, the other emotionally – in an accident for which she placed the blame on herself and her voice; Rachel, with the emotional support of her new favorite teacher, finally begins to come to terms with her past and starts to speak – and _sing_ – once more; she applies to Juilliard, Miss Fabray accompanies her to her (inevitable) audition, and their disgustingly long-lived, unresolved sexual tension finally peaks in a kiss in Times Square which makes Quinn's heart go crazy; speaking of Quinn's heart, she has a genetic condition which led to a heart attack (which just proves that Russell and Judy's genetics are complete and utter shit health-wise because they also gave Quinn's younger brother, Caleb, a genetically-linked hearing disorder which made him Deaf from birth) – but don't worry, because she's alive!

_**And that's what you missed last time on…**_

**The Silence of Silence**

**Present Day**

The warm afternoon sun caressed Quinn's shoulders as she walked from her car to her apartment building. The weight of her paper-laden bag clung heavily to her side. She finally made it up to her door, inserted her key into the lock, and made her way inside. Even as she closed it in her wake, Quinn could feel the fresh spring breeze from the open living room window. There was something about it – something about the way it felt against her skin, the fragrance of it, the memories it effortlessly evoked – that had Quinn smiling from ear to ear.

It certainly didn't hurt that everything in her life felt kind of perfect as of late.

Walking down the hall and into her bedroom, Quinn slipped off her modest heels, shook loose her hair from the confines of its ponytail, and walked into her closet. Her fingers grazed against the light switch, and the small interior space was illuminated by an overhead bulb as well as the residual light from her room. But as Quinn stepped fully inside the closet, she turned around and shut the door, effectively blocking out the natural light.

Deft fingers reached into the front pocket of her slacks, extracting a post-it note.

It was blue, and it had the number **40** boldly written upon it.

Stepping forward, Quinn carefully stuck the post-it on the back of her closet door. It was meticulous and almost shrine-like, the way each sticky note was lined up perfectly to create almost a dozen rows of brightly colored squares – one for each day since the first night she and Rachel had kissed. Somewhere along the way – day **97**, to be precise – Rachel had run out of green post-its and had begun alternating through the colors of the rainbow.

Fitting.

Quinn couldn't help but smile again as her fingertips drifted over the colors, the numbers, the days that had flown by like the warm spring breeze that had only just been caressing her skin bare minutes before.

"Forty more days," Quinn whispered to herself as she let her mind wander…

* * *

**106**

Santana and Brittany knocked lightly on her bedroom door just as Quinn was about to drift off to sleep, pressed snugly against Rachel. But it was probably for the best that she was woken up as she hadn't had a _real_ meal in quite some time.

"The soup smells delicious, Rachel," Brittany said, walking in the room behind a tray-carrying Santana.

Rachel quickly sat up in bed, accidentally pulling the blanket that had been covering both her and Quinn with her in her haste to put themselves into a less scandalous position. "Oh, _relax_," Santana drawled, placing the tray carefully across Quinn's lap. As she picked up one of the spoons and began to slowly stir Quinn's bowl of soup, she gave Rachel a look through her eyelashes that was simultaneously threatening and jovial.

"Be nice, 'Ana," Quinn said, pushing herself further up on her pillows and wincing slightly at the twinge of pain that still radiated from her chest.

Santana huffed but easily relented as her girlfriend pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"This _is_ delicious, Rachel," Quinn said quietly as she ate her first spoonful.

Brittany nodded eagerly in agreement. "Oh yes, definitely." The way she said it clued Rachel into the fact that the woman was probably used to being correct.

Santana hummed, begrudgingly acknowledging the same sentiment around a mouthful of yummy vegetables.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Rachel replied, a soft smile on her lips as she turned her eyes downward to the bowl of soup she was cupping in her own hands. And occasionally as they all continued to eat their dinner in relative silence, she would glance up and catch Quinn's gaze.

And they both knew in those moments – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that they had each been given yet another beautiful opportunity to live their lives. And it felt good to be doing so in tandem.

Half an hour later, Rachel swung her legs down off of the bed. "I better get home," she nearly whispered. "Santana, Brittany, it was nice to meet you both." She walked around the side of the bed closest to Quinn and touched her fingertips to the back of Quinn's hand. "I'll see you soon?" she questioned.

"Soon," Quinn whispered in return. "I promise."

Rachel nodded and bid her farewells, but as she walked out of Quinn's room, she quickly realized that she wasn't alone.

Santana was following her to the front door, grabbing Rachel's coat for her and helping her into it.

"Listen," Santana started, "Quinn and I, we've been friends for a really long time. And I don't want –"

"Trust me," Rachel said, efficiently cutting Santana's spiel off before it had the chance to gain any more momentum. "I'm not going to hurt her."

Santana breathed heavily, narrowed her eyes, and then simply replied, "Good."

As Rachel made her way home, she couldn't help but feel an immense sense of relief. Maybe Quinn wouldn't be back teaching at school tomorrow or the next day, but she would be back _eventually_. And until then, Rachel was certain that her love for the other woman would be enough to sustain her.

Back in Quinn's bedroom, Santana plopped down on the bed next to her. "That Berry girl, she's alright."

Brittany chuckled and pressed her lips to Santana's forehead while Quinn shook her head in mild disagreement. "No," she said. "She's way more than _alright_. And I'm in love with her."

* * *

**99**

It was Quinn's second day back at Haverbrook. She felt as if everyone was _treading lightly_ around her, and she really hoped that they'd stop treating her like a china doll sooner rather than later.

As a teacher, Miss Fabray was doing her best to be the strong, confident figure she always had been – and to put her students' minds at ease about her health. As a colleague, she was trying to convince Mr. Rumba that yes, she _could_ still help with after-school choir practice, _thank you very much_. And as a friend and roommate, Quinn was thankful for the support she had been receiving from Will and Santana and Brittany. And last but certainly not least, Quinn, as a sibling, was thankful for the almost daily Skype conversations she had been having with Caleb.

Things felt _good_ – maybe even better than they had in a _long_ time. Even after a mere week of being home from the hospital, Quinn was feeling strong and healthy. Her CPR-induced bruises were gone, and her arrhythmia was being efficiently controlled by her new medication.

And the previous day, while Quinn had been nervous that it would be tense or awkward or _difficult_ in some way to be around Rachel again in such a public setting, the other girl had effortlessly walked into fourth period senior English bearing a bouquet of flowers and a get-well card signed by every single one of Quinn's students as well as the kids from choir.

It was beautiful and perfect and Quinn had smiled widely in an attempt not to cry from happiness.

Today, Quinn was going to the rehearsal that she had convinced Mr. Rumba was _not_ a burden in the slightest. She walked down the quiet halls to the choir room, smiling in passing at a few straggling students grabbing books from their lockers before heading to the bus.

The silence of the hallways, it was as comforting as it had always been – since Quinn had decided that _comforting_ was the right word, at least. But being back after what had quite literally been a near-death experience – even though she had existed in an unconscious dream state for most of it – gave the hallways of Haverbrook a homey feel.

Yes. That was the word. _Homey_. This school had become Quinn's home-away-from-home from the first day, but she was only _just_ coming to recognize it for what it was.

And _god,_ did it feel good to be alive – and _home_.

As Quinn walked into the choir room, a round of applause and cheers met her ears. The gesture was unexpected, and she found herself stopping short and clapping her hands together in front of her face. But not even her conjoined hands could cover up her smile.

Mr. Rumba stepped forward. "Miss Fabray," he said, clapping one hand over her shoulder, "we're so very glad to have you back." He smiled to match hers, having obviously gotten over his worry for her health.

"I'm glad to be here," she replied, unclasping her hands and signing the words as well.

And she meant it. She meant it with all of her still-beating heart.

Across the room, Rachel was sitting on the piano bench – ankles crossed and a demure smile on her lips as she watched the choir kids greet Miss Fabray, welcoming her back with hugs and love. She began to quietly play a melody on the keys, only realizing that her subconscious had led her to play _What I Did For Love_ when Quinn's eyes – not quite Miss Fabray's – looked up in her direction, a slight twinkle of recognition shining out at her.

Rachel quickly started playing one of the tunes they were working on for graduation instead.

Choir practice began a couple of minutes later – with Mr. Rumba and Miss Fabray helping the kids to memorize pitches, lyrics, and assisting with enunciation and the like. Halfway through rehearsal, when the kids were doing a full run through of their first complete song, Quinn ended up sitting on the bench next to Rachel. Their thighs didn't come into overly-close proximity, but they were still closer than they had been all day long.

Rachel continued to play the melody as Mr. Rumba directed the choir, but she lowered her chin and quietly asked, "Tired?"

Quinn crossed her legs, resting one elbow on her knee and leaning forward to place her chin in her hand. Her other hand rested on the bench between herself and Rachel, fingertips gripping the edge of the wooden seat to keep herself from reaching out and touching the other girl. "Yeah," she quietly whispered. "I'm a little tired."

Humming softly under her breath, Rachel played on. But she scooted minutely closer to her teacher, lending her soft, quiet strength to Quinn as their shoulders nearly touched. And even though the inch or two between them should have rightfully been the equivalent of an entire mountain range or more, Quinn was astounded by the level of comfort she _did _receive from Rachel's closeness.

The girl must have been an angel, Quinn was certain of it.

As the rehearsal came to a close, the students all filed out of the doors. Mr. Rumba was discussing something animatedly with Patrick as they both left, Patrick tossing a jovial wave towards Rachel as he disappeared. Rachel gathered up her sheet music, neatly stacking it and placing it back in its proper folder. She stood, walking it over to a shelf on the far wall, and Quinn stood as well. Together, they gathered their things and walked side-by-side out of the choir room and to the front of the school.

When they stepped out into the cool breeze, Quinn wrapped her coat more closely around herself for warmth. But then one of her hands was suddenly enveloped in unexpected warmth, and she looked down to see Rachel's hand briefly squeezing her own.

"I'm glad to have you back at school," Rachel said, smiling softly. A brilliant light shone in her eyes, and Quinn couldn't help but return the smile, hers full of awe and admiration for the young woman whom she loved standing before her. "It just wasn't the same without you."

Rachel didn't give Quinn time to reply. She slipped away, walking briskly down the sidewalk as Shelby pulled into the parking lot. Quinn saw the older woman wave in her direction before they drove off, and it wasn't until they were almost out of sight that Quinn even realized that Rachel had snuck something into the palm of her hand.

Another bright green post-it note.

**99**.

Chuckling quietly to herself, Quinn pressed the note safely inside her coat pocket and made her way to her car.

As she drove home, she realized that the stretch of time before graduation suddenly looked less daunting in double-digits.

* * *

**72**

Quinn idly scratched at an itch on the side of her nose, inadvertently smearing paint across her fair skin there. She rolled her eyes at herself and puffed a breath of air upwards, carefully shifting a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. She shifted on her heels, and she heard the crumpling of the blue post-it note that she had stuck into the waist band of her athletic shorts; Rachel had snuck it into her hand on her arrival at the theatre, and Quinn had immediately kissed it and placed it close to her skin with purpose.

From somewhere on the other side of the heavy backdrop curtain, Quinn heard Rachel doing her vocal warm-up. To Quinn, even the complicated exercises the other girl was doing sounded extraordinary, but she was sure Rachel managed to find enough flaws to stretch herself in a star effort to improve. It was admirable, Quinn thought, that Rachel knew of and acknowledged her talent while simultaneously attempting to masterfully harness and command every ounce of it.

Her passion was the exact reason that Quinn knew Rachel was destined for Juilliard – for New York City and for Broadway and for every single one of her beautiful dreams.

Quinn could only be so lucky to be a fly on the wall in some part of Rachel's future, she knew. Even that would be enough for her, judging from the wondrous melodies of Rachel's scales and arpeggios that floated effortlessly to the backstage space.

Rachel Berry was going to be a star, and everyone there knew it. It was only reaffirmed when Rachel began to sing the opening lines of _I Have a Love_. Quinn's eyes drifted shut, the fingers clutching her dripping wet paintbrush drooping dangerously close to her bare leg as she listened intently; it was only when Rachel stopped singing abruptly, heels _tap tapping_ across the stage to chastise the piano player for missing the cue for the second verse, that Quinn opened her eyes and looked around again, taking in her fellow crew members with their own matching dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

Yeah, Rachel Berry was going to be a star. The _greatest_.

Turning back to the set piece in front of her that needed one final coat of paint, Quinn wrinkled her nose in an attempt not to smear more paint all over her face.

It was just a few days before the production was set to begin performances of _West Side Story_. Quinn had been helping to build the set since Will had asked it of her a few weeks before, and Quinn had eagerly jumped at the opportunity as it gave her an unimpeded, free-of-risk chance to spend time with Rachel outside of Haverbrook.

Well, it was free-of-risk until Rachel had started cornering her in the bathroom during cast breaks and weekend afternoon lunch downtime.

From her peripheral vision, Quinn saw Will approaching. She playfully extended the paintbrush as if offering for him to take over her tedious job, but he held up his hands in refusal. As he approached, Rachel picked up where she had left off in the song earlier onstage.

"She makes a great Maria," Will said, slipping into one of the jackets that was part of his costume for the show.

Sandy Ryerson shuffled closer with several pins sticking precariously from his lips and measuring tape draped from his shoulders. As he began muttering to himself and making adjustments with the notably sharp clothes pins, Quinn nodded her agreement to Will's statement. "I know," she said, the corners of her lips tilting softly upwards in the barest of proud smiles. "She's wonderful, isn't she? There's just no way that Juilliard didn't accept her."

"I don't know," Sandy drawled, dropping several pins to _clink_ dangerously against the floor in the dim light from overhead, "I still think _I _would have made a decent Maria."

Will and Quinn shared eye rolls, and Will winced as a stray pin supposedly _accidentally_ struck him in the ribs. Sandy was the kind of diva that none of the Lima Theatre Guild really wanted to deal with, but he was a magician with the costumes so they all put up with his dramatics.

As she carefully painted the wooden structure in front of her while ignoring Sandy's incessant babbling about being aptly suited for the role that Rachel rightly deserved, Quinn pressed a hand to her hip over the sticky note that was sticking out of the top of her shorts.

Only seventy-two more days until graduation. Only seventy-two more days until something that almost dangerously resembled _freedom_.

* * *

**60**

"It's very nice to finally speak with you, Mr. Hadley."

Quinn's voice was sincere, and it was an easy emotion to grasp; Mr. Hadley was the Vice Chancellor of the _New York School for the Deaf_ and was in charge of faculty hires.

And Quinn had recently applied for an open position on their teaching staff.

She had, in fact, been applying for a number of jobs in the greater New York City area at Deaf-specializing schools ever since she had felt up to it after her close call with mortality and her subsequent recovery. For all intents and purposes, Quinn was assuming – proudly so – that Rachel would be a star student at Juilliard in a year's time, and Quinn's heart literally couldn't bear the thought of being in Will Schuester's apartment in Lima, Ohio, while the girl who had effortlessly implanted upon her heart was on her own in the city. Quinn had no doubts that Rachel could and _would_ thrive in such an environment, but Quinn didn't _want_ the girl to have to do it alone. She wanted to be there, even in the role of Supportive Spectator or, perhaps, something _more._

So Quinn had set out with a vengeance in the past few weeks to find a teaching job for fall in the city. She hadn't told Rachel because she didn't want to get the girl's hopes up when the job market was _painfully_ competitive as is, and because she wanted a job – if so procured – to be a surprise.

When an unknown phone number with a New York area code had shown up on her phone a few days previous, Quinn had been momentarily stunned before answering. It had been Mr. Hadley's assistant, calling to schedule a phone interview for the following Monday morning – which Quinn had quickly and enthusiastically agreed to. She hadn't expected a response so soon after applying, let alone from one of the _best_ schools in the area, a school that just so happened to be conveniently located in the upper east side of Manhattan – separated from Juilliard by Central Park and not much else.

It was with almost painfully high expectations that Quinn answered Mr. Hadley's phone call that Monday during her free period before lunch.

"_As it is nice to meet you via phone, Mrs. Fabray,_" Mr. Hadley's pleasantly gravelly voice resounded through Quinn's earpiece, and she didn't bother correcting him over her title. "_Thank you for taking the time out of your day for me to conduct this interview. Just to let you know, we will be recording this interaction for review purposes…_"

And so he went on, and Quinn listened raptly. She answered every question honestly and to the best of her ability – about her education and her experience teaching at Haverbrook and what led her to a profession with an emphasis on Deaf education. On and on. And at the end of it all, Quinn felt mentally exhausted, though satisfyingly so.

"_Thank you again, Quinn,_" Mr. Hadley drawled, having adopted the use of Quinn's first name over the course of their hour-long conversation. "_We'll be getting back to you sometime in May to let you know officially about the position,_" he said. Then he added, "_But I'd like you to know that your reference from Ohio State – one, Professor Bryan Ryan – nearly talked my ear off about hiring you. Nothing but good things to say, he had._"

"He's always been very kind," Quinn chuckled softly.

Mr. Hadley reciprocated with a short burst of jovial laughter before thanking her one final time and ending the conversation.

It was with an aura of lightness – a light heart and light steps and light thoughts of her future – that Quinn stepped back into Haverbrook. This place, she had decided upon her return, was home to her; but most of what made it feel like _home_ was Rachel's presence, a presence that Quinn was becoming more and more mentally prepared to follow wherever she went. And when she made it to her desk, there was a pink post-it note waiting for her atop her grade book. The **60** in Rachel's precise handwriting didn't seem like any kind of sentence waiting to be fulfilled anymore – it felt like a countdown to something new and fantastic.

* * *

**53**

The house lights were dim, and Quinn's right leg was crossed over her left knee. The black dress she was wearing exposed her long, athletic legs and elegantly showed off her neck and collarbones. Onstage, Rachel was acting out a scene with a fellow cast member; she was spouting off reels of dialogue effortlessly, and they were rare memories in which Quinn had been prouder of someone in her life.

From the seat next to her, Quinn heard Shelby sniffle.

To be honest, Quinn hadn't _really_ wanted to sit next to Shelby. She still stood by the strong fundamental truth that mothers _always know_, and it terrified her to be in too close proximity to the woman for an overly long period of time – what if she tried to stop thinking about kissing Shelby's daughter because she didn't want it to read on her face but then it was _all_ she thought about because it was all she was trying _not_ to think about and then it just _blatantly_ read off of her entire aura and then seeped osmotically from Quinn's mind to Shelby's and then –

But the house had already been packed when Quinn arrived, the show having received much local, critical acclaim since opening night a few weekends before – the fire marshal had _literally_ been standing in the back since before intermission, incapable of shutting them down because he was just as enthralled by Rachel's voice as the rest of Lima. So when Shelby's hand had reached the small of Quinn's back, sweetly gesturing her towards a seat she had saved in the third row, Quinn hadn't known what to do besides take the offer.

And _god,_ did she _ever_ hope that moms weren't really as psychic as she thought they were.

Quinn gingerly reached out and touched her fingertips to the other woman's knee after a second sniffle, silently trying to find out if Shelby was okay.

Turning to Quinn, Shelby dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and said, "She's absolutely wonderful, isn't she?"

Nodding her head, Quinn leaned closer to Shelby, foregoing her fear of thought-osmosis, and replied, "She'll do great things, that's for sure."

Shelby reached out and squeezed Quinn's hand in her own before returning both of her hands to her lap and staring lovingly up at her daughter onstage. And as the show continued, Quinn's thoughts only strayed once to the sticky note in the passenger seat of her car that Rachel had given her that afternoon before the cast began getting into costumes and makeup.

Quinn had survived a heart attack, and Rachel had made it through eight years of silence. **53** days would be _cake_.

* * *

**Present Day**

And forty days, Quinn knew, would be a walk in the park. "I bet Central Park is lovely this time of year," she whispered to herself after firmly affixing her newest post-it in place and stepping back out of the closet.

She began to unbutton her slacks as she moved across the room, preparing to slip into something more comfortable. But just as she moved to push the material down her thighs, a knock sounded down the hallway from her front door.

Quickly glancing to her bedside table, Quinn read the clock that was situated there.

**4:19**

Armed with the knowledge that Will wasn't home, Quinn quickly refastened the front of her slacks and smoothed out the front of her tucked-in, button-up shirt before moving out of her room and to the front door, curious as to whom she could possibly find there.

* * *

Rachel hopped down off of her bus at approximately **3:44**, waving goodbye to Miss Beiste – the friendliest of all the bus drivers at Haverbrook – as she did so**.** She stepped into the quiet interior of her house, flipping the lock into place behind her. The natural light from the windows on the side of the door led her to pick up the mail and carry it into the kitchen. There was a _huge_ pile of it today for some reason, and Rachel dumped it all onto the dining table before grabbing a glass of water and plopping down in a chair with an oatmeal raisin cookie in her other hand.

Nibbling on the cookie, Rachel began humming a classic Barbra tune underneath her breath as she sorted the mail into multiple piles – bills and junk mail and coupons and _other_. But suddenly, Rachel's jaw stilled and her breath caught in her throat, abruptly cutting off her humming at the chorus of _Happy Days Are Here Again_ as the seal of _Juilliard_ was suddenly beneath her trembling fingertips.

"I-I—" she stuttered to no one but herself.

It was a Friday, and this Friday in particular marked Shelby's absence as she was in attendance at a conference in Indiana, already gone for the entirety of the weekend.

Rachel began to breathe again, but her breaths were in tandem with the realization that she absolutely could _not_ open this letter – _whatever_ its contents – _alone_.

Shoving the rest of her cookie in her mouth, Rachel chewed furiously as she moved back into the hallway, glass of water in one hand and letter from Juilliard in the other. She grabbed the keys to Shelby's beat-up old car – which had been left at home with Rachel in case of any emergency situations that may or may not arise (and Rachel was _officially_ deeming this an emergency situation) – and they clinked against the glass already in her hand. Rachel chugged back the contents of the glass before setting it down on the hall table and shaking her body out from head to toe.

"Breathe, Rachel," she forced out across nervously parted lips as she exited her house, closing and locking the door behind her and skipping off towards the car with the letter that held her fate still clutched preciously to her chest.

The only coherent thought in Rachel's mind was that Quinn _surely_ knew how to properly open a letter. Because, Rachel? She had completely forgotten.


	26. Chapter 26

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn's heels lay abandoned in the middle of her bedroom floor, so she plucked at the material of her slacks, pulling them up a bit so that she wasn't walking on her hems as she made her way to the front door.

"Coming!" she called out, still curious as to whom she would find out in the hallway.

She hadn't locked the door behind her when she got home – a bad habit for which Caleb liked to chastise her – and Quinn didn't even check the peephole before swinging the door inward. Her eyes immediately widened and a smile crossed her lips as she took in the sight of Rachel standing before her.

"Rachel, hi," Quinn said, lamely stepping back and gesturing inside. "Please, come in."

The smile on Quinn's face was mirrored on Rachel's, and it made Quinn happy – it made her feel whole.

"Hi," Rachel returned the greeting, stepping further into the living room and standing almost awkwardly in front of the couch. "Is Mr. Schuester around?"

"No, he's actually gone to visit his parents for the long weekend. He took Emma, I think they might very well be making an engagement announcement soon, if I know Will at all."

"That's exciting," Rachel said, one hand nervously smoothing down the front of her skirt as she fidgeted in place.

Quinn moved around the couch and stood directly in front of her. "Well, I said an _engagement_ _announcement_, which I could potentially see. Whether the man will ever actually get married, I'm not entirely sure." She reached a hand out and allowed her fingertips to wrap around Rachel's fidgeting hand, smoothing her thumb slowly over the delicate skin she found there. "Rachel," she continued, moving her other hand to pick at something that had caught her eye on the front of Rachel's school sweater, "you've got crumbs all over yourself."

"Oh?" Rachel quickly asked, reaching up and wiping furiously at the crumbs, scattering a few onto the floor. "I was…I was eating a cookie before I left," she explained. "Oatmeal raisin."

Quinn faux-gasped and clutched at her chest. "And you didn't bring one for me?" Rachel's eyes widened momentarily. "I'd kidding, I'm kidding, I promise." With laughter in her voice, Quinn reached forward and cupped Rachel's cheeks in her hand. "Rach, are you okay?"

"Well, I—" Rachel started but then stopped, chewing at the inside of her cheek in a nervous habit. "Yes, if you'd like to know the short version of things, I'm fine in this moment. On the verge of a hysterical breakdown, but that's at least _several_ moments away."

Quinn shifted her eyes to the envelope that Rachel had been clutching to her chest like a safety blanket – or a live grenade, perhaps – since she had arrived. The seal was just sticking out over the crook of Rachel's bent elbow, and even though Quinn could only see a small part of it, she recognized it instantly. The day of Rachel's interview, she had sat outside the audition room for an hour straight staring across at a wall that was minimally decorated with nothing more or less than Juilliard's seal in all of its glory.

And Quinn was willing to bet disproportionate amounts of money that this was the same seal on the safety-blanket-grenade that Rachel was white-knuckle grasping at the moment.

"Juilliard," Quinn breathed out, sliding one of her hands across the skin of Rachel's cheek and down her neck and shoulder and arm to rest tenderly on the hand that was dutifully imprisoning the letter. All Rachel could do in response was lift her eyes, connecting them with Quinn's in what seemed to be a last-ditch effort to maintain her composure. Quinn – inexplicably ever-willing to do whatever it took to provide comfort to the young woman standing in front of her – leaned forward and pressed her lips to Rachel's forehead. "You're not going to fall apart," she whispered against Rachel's warm skin, brushing kisses down the side of the girl's face. "But if you do," she added, stepping closer, wrapping her arms around Rachel's small frame, holding her close and breathing her in as she kissed Rachel's cheek close to her ear, "I'll be here to catch you."

The moment was like glass, waiting to be shattered into a million tiny shards which would then be perfectly poised, waiting to plunge precariously into the soles of their feet as they tried to escape the mess around them. But Rachel wasn't willing to fall apart, even if Quinn was there to catch her.

"You're something else," Rachel whispered on the air of an almost disbelieving laugh against the crook of Quinn's neck. Her letter-holding hand was squished between them, but her free hand was wrapped around the taller girl, grasping tightly at the material residing over the small of her back. Quinn smelled faintly of her choice perfume and she felt warm and safe and like comfort and hope and a cool spring afternoon and a winter evening by the fireplace all rolled into one – and, for a brief second, Rachel closed her eyes and fell into Quinn. She leaned her weight against the rock of a woman embracing her, and she _let go – _but she didn't fall apart. Because all of the things that Quinn _felt like_ culminated into Rachel's ideal of _home_ and _love_ and _peacefulness_, and _that_ was a place she could justify losing it in. But not breaking; Rachel wasn't willing to break.

The moment, it passed as Quinn chuckled lightly into Rachel's hair in response to her statement; but the feeling blissfully remained intact as Rachel pulled back, looking up into Quinn's eyes. "No, seriously," she reiterated. "I'm a lot of things, and one of them is _certain_. Especially about this. You're wonderful, Quinn."

To emphasize her point, Rachel leaned up on her toes and embraced Quinn's lips with her own. It was slow – almost painfully so – but it was delicious and freeing and _hot_. Their mouths slid against each other, Rachel's tongue darting out to explore the edges of Quinn's lips. It wasn't until Rachel tasted the soft moan that was escaping from Quinn's mouth that she pulled back the slightest bit, placing a peck on wet lips and leaning to rest her head on Quinn's shoulder. She kissed Quinn's pulse point once, lingering, before relinquishing her grip at the small of Quinn's back.

"Wow, I probably wrinkled your shirt so much just now."

The laughter that left Quinn's lips was angelic, and her grip lowered and tightened around Rachel's waist, swaying them together playfully in place. Rachel couldn't help but laugh in return, letting herself give in once more _completely_ to everything that was the woman whose embrace lightened her heart effortlessly.

"_You_ are something else, Rachel. And that's exactly why you're going to open that letter right now and—"

"We need to talk," Rachel said, abruptly cutting off Quinn's sentence.

Several things happened at once.

Quinn's movements stopped entirely; Rachel even felt the rise and fall of Quinn's chest cease. A gust of wind came in through the still-open window, blowing the curtains up into the air. A car door slammed outside. Rachel leaned back, withdrawing herself from Quinn's previously tight embrace to look up into swimming, hazel eyes. Quinn opened her mouth to speak.

"Wha—"

"About prom!" Rachel nearly shouted, quickly realizing what she had said, how it had sounded. "About prom," she repeated, a notch or two quieter, easing her hand up and down Quinn's goosebump-covered arm.

With a stunned look still on her face, Quinn nodded once, her lips forming an '_oh_' shape. "Oh, okay. _Let's_. I'm just going to sit down over here." Quinn extracted herself from Rachel, leveling a gentle kiss to her lips before plopping herself unceremoniously down on the couch – a contradictory action to the professionalism of the clothes she was still wearing. She passed a hand over her face and sighed before crossing her legs and smiling up at Rachel. "What about prom, Rach? And why are we talking about prom instead of Juilliard?"

Rachel had remained standing, Juilliard letter still cupped closely to her heart. But while the letter signified something about her _future_, Rachel had realized on the drive to Quinn's that she needed to sort some things out concerning her _present_ first and foremost. And that included discussing prom – which she had somehow managed to avoid entirely.

The letter would still say whatever the hell it said after she was done discussing prom. And Patrick.

"As you know, I'm a senior this year," Rachel unnecessarily began, "and it is customary for Haverbrook to throw a formal prom every spring. The prom is open to all classes since our school is quite small and since it's such a big deal for everyone who attends to actually get the experience of a dance – the administration and prom committee actually go to great lengths to make sure that things are perfect for everyone who is hearing-impaired, it's quite wonderful and—"

"Rach."

"Oh, yes," Rachel looked up, catching the twinkle in Quinn's eyes. She focused her thoughts and continued, having to bypass the momentary shock at herself for actually talking _so much_ – something she hadn't really done at all since...well, in a very long time. "I've never gone before, not in my whole time at Haverbrook. And from what I've been told, they always make prom very special for the seniors. I…I received an invitation this year. From Patrick," she added, already seeing the question forming on Quinn's lips. In response, Rachel watched Quinn nod sagely but remain poised and unreadable. Rachel nearly squinted her eyes at Quinn's nonchalance but carried on anyway. "Initially, I told him that I didn't think it would be a good idea, and I believe that he may have inferred that there is…someone else." _Aha!_ _That_ statement had gotten an eyebrow arch out of the other woman. "But I convinced him that I was willing to go with him if it was strictly in a friendship capacity."

Silence descended on the room as Rachel stared down at her knees, arms crossed over her chest, and Quinn stared at Rachel without saying a word.

Finally, Rachel lifted her eyes to level her gaze at Quinn; she blew a puff of air upwards to move her bangs out of the way as she did so. Quinn's expression was still blank, and just as Rachel was about to open her mouth to speak again, Quinn shifted. She smiled and tilted her head backwards and silently seemed to chuckle, and Rachel bit her cheek roughly because she suddenly wanted very much to pounce and wrap her lips around Quinn's pulse again.

"Patrick is a wonderful student, and I'm sure he'll be an absolute gentleman as your date on prom night." Rachel's mouth fell minutely open and her eyes _did _squint as she tried to process Quinn's statement – which was hard with the veil of lust that had fallen over her head. "And if he's not, I'll flunk him," she added, waving her hand dismissively.

And then Rachel was smiling and her feet were no longer glued to the floor. She nearly leaped across the distance separating them, landing half on the couch and half on Quinn. The other girl barely had time to uncross her legs and catch the airborne projectile known as Rachel with a laugh, eagerly receiving her with open arms.

"So you're not mad?" Rachel asked, her body pressing up against Quinn's side.

"Mad?" Quinn questioned. The word left her throat in a strangled exhalation seeing as Rachel's lips had attached to her neck upon landing. And with Rachel halfway in her lap, Quinn was more aware than ever of the school-approved skirt that Rachel was wearing and how it was allowing so much of her bare skin to press against Quinn's inner thigh. "Why on earth would I be mad, R-Rach?"

The stutter might've been embarrassing if Rachel hadn't just begun lightly teasing Quinn's earlobe with the tip of her tongue. But just as quickly as the moment had heated up, Rachel's movements were stilling. Her warm breath continued to puff in even intervals against the now-moist skin of Quinn's ear, but she was as motionless as a statue. "I'm sorry," she breathed, and Quinn shivered. "We're waiting, I know we're waiting. I know _why_ we're waiting, but that doesn't make you any less beautiful. It doesn't make you any less desirable to me. Everything about you, Quinn, everything…"

She trailed off into silence but still didn't move except to pull back ever so slightly, just enough to see Quinn's face; Quinn's cheeks were red and her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily through her nose. Her hand that wasn't pinned beneath Rachel's side was open, hovering in the air as if it couldn't quite decide where to land.

"Quinn?" Rachel breathed.

"That word," Quinn finally spoke, seemingly regaining enough semblance of self-control to allow her eyelids to flutter open. She turned to press her forehead against Rachel's. "_Everything_. _You_, Rachel, are a magnificent example of _everything_ – kindness and talent and _beauty_. _God_, Rach, you are _so_ beautiful. But it's not just your beauty – it's not just your exquisitely rare smile or the sound of your laughter or the softness of your skin when I'm brave enough to reach out and touch you. It's _everything_ about the person you are that I love. I don't…I don't just _love you_, Rachel. I'm _in_ _love_ with you."

There was a pause, and Rachel rushed forward to fill the silence with the sound of something, _anything_. Her heart just couldn't stand the stillness in that moment – as if Quinn's words had been too much, too beautiful to remain unaccompanied. "Quinn, I—"

"It's okay," Quinn said. Her voice, quiet yet strong, was all Rachel needed. Another moment of quietness passed between them – and Rachel let it – before Quinn was softly speaking again. "Forty more days, Rach, baby. Forty days. Then you'll be starting a new chapter in your life—" here, Quinn reached out and lightly touched the envelope that was sticking out from between them "—but before that, we have to do things _right_."

It was a sentiment Quinn had expressed before, and she meant it now more than ever – with Rachel almost straddling her waist and her supple thigh resting precariously close to Quinn's center, it took every spare ounce of Quinn's self-control to push the words out from deep within her chest. And when her eyes connected once more with Rachel's, she was pleased to see a charming grin on Rachel's face. "You are such a gentleman yourself, aren't you?" Rachel teasingly asked.

"I try to be," Quinn said, laughing in spite of the seriousness of the things that had been said between them. Unhurriedly, Quinn lowered her still hovering hand to rest on top of Rachel's knee. She heard the other girl practically _purr_ at the touch, and she bit her lip, shaking her head just once as her index finger drew leisurely circles. "Now, let's talk about this letter that you've been holding onto since your arrival."

"Oh yes," Rachel said, looking down at the letter in her hand as if she actually _had_ forgotten about it. "Well, this came in the mail today."

"I assumed that was the case," Quinn laughed, "or else you'd probably have been here yesterday."

Rachel almost blushed – _almost_ – before slipping off of Quinn's lap and sitting on the couch next to her. An arm rested gently across her shoulders, and Rachel was glad that she had chosen to come to Quinn. "The problem is, you see, that I seem to have forgotten how to actually _open it_."

"What are you saying?" Quinn asked. "You don't remember how to tear an envelope?"

Turning pleading eyes on her couch mate and with her bottom lip protruding most spectacularly, Rachel asked, "Quinn? Would you mind…opening it for me?"

Immediately, Quinn's expression shifted from almost-playful to somewhat-serious. "Rachel, I can't take that experience away from you. This is _your_ news to hear – before _anyone_ else."

"Well…" Rachel gulped and ran one finger along the seal of the letter. "Maybe you could just get things rolling."

With a smile on her face, Quinn leaned forward and kissed the side of Rachel's head. She reached down and grabbed a corner of the envelope, preparing to extract it from Rachel's grasp and open it for the other girl; but Rachel's grip was unwilling to relinquish its hold. "Rachel…" Quinn slowly drawled.

"Oh! Oh, yes. I'm sorry, please – by all means." She practically threw the letter at Quinn in her haste.

Carefully, Quinn tore one short side of the envelope completely away. Inside, there was a single sheet of paper. "Here you go."

She handed it back to Rachel – who seemed completely and utterly paralyzed.

"There is only one sheet of paper."

"Yes," Quinn acknowledged, "there is only one sheet of paper."

Eyes full of anticipatory tears turned frantically to Quinn. "But one piece of paper is bad! One piece of paper means that they hardly even cared to use up more resources! One piece of paper means rejection!"

"Rachel, listen to yourself. Somewhere along the way, the girl I know gained the confidence and the will to succeed. Coupled with the talent you and I both know _abounds_ from within you, and there's no reason that you should be afraid of the contents of this letter – even if it is a single page."

Rachel's expression steeled – she blinked away her tears and nodded once in resolution. Then she took the open envelope, and she stood, moving a few feet away from Quinn.

The rustling of paper filled the quiet air. A bird sang beyond the window as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, casting sparse shadows across the living room.

Quinn watched Rachel's back as she unfolded the single piece of paper, and a few seconds passed as Quinn held her breath, waiting for Rachel to speak again.

_God_, it felt like Quinn had been holding her breath, waiting for Rachel to speak from _day one._

Finally, Rachel turned around. Her eyes were bright and glistening once more, and Quinn literally could not decipher what emotions were playing across Rachel's face as they were tumultuous and changing at the speed of light.

"There's only one piece of paper," Rachel began, taking a step closer to Quinn, "because they'll be sending my welcome packet in the coming weeks."

Quinn gripped the edge of the couch and pushed herself up, forcing her shaky legs to carry her closer to Rachel. "You're saying what I think you're saying, right?"

Laughter – sweet, child-like laughter – poured from Rachel's lips. "They want me!" she nearly shouted, and the tears that had been shimmering in her eyes for several long minutes began to pour down her cheeks unimpeded by now-useless emotional dams. Her eyes broke from Quinn's, darting frantically over the paper in her hands again. "They want me to be part of their vocal program with an interdisciplinary focus on drama. Oh my gosh, Quinn, _they want me!_"

Joyous laughter rang throughout the apartment as Quinn rushed forward, firmly wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist. She lifted her, spinning them around in circles. Rachel's arms were around her neck, and her laugh echoed perfectly against Quinn's eardrum. "You should win an award for being the only person in Ohio who could _possibly_ be surprised by this news!"

They stopped spinning and Rachel planted her feet on the ground; then both of her hands grasped the sides of Quinn's face, pulling her closer and crashing their lips together.

"I'm going to New York," she whispered between frantic kisses.

Quinn's hands were gripping Rachel's hips, and she was doing her damnedest not to lose herself in the moment. "You're going to New York," she reaffirmed.

"I want this moment to never end. I want this feeling to be a part of me forever."

Nodding her head, Quinn continued to kiss Rachel with all of the passion that had been building inside of her since the first day they had met – since before she even knew what the hell kind of mess she was getting herself into. But she knew what Rachel meant, about not letting the emotions of the moment dissipate into nothingness.

If the moment they were experiencing could, perhaps, continue on for the next forty days, time would fly by as if it was nothing at all.

Their kisses were not slowing, and the heat between them wasn't losing momentum, it was gaining it. Finally, Quinn placed one final, firm kiss on Rachel's lips before detaching herself entirely and stepping back towards the couch. "My darling girl, my self-control has been put to the test for a long time now, but there's only so much…"

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. She was breathing heavily – though her breath control was _quite stunning_ – and she looked like she was ready to jump Quinn's bones again at any second. "No wait, I'm not sorry."

Quinn laughed around her own shortness of breath but nevertheless moved to put the couch between them. Even with the distance separating them, Rachel could see – and feel – the love radiating from the other woman for her. "I'm so proud of you, Rachel."

Rachel's head tilted to the side, and a smile of absolute adoration spread across her lips. "I did it," she whispered.

It took all of Quinn's will power and discipline to keep herself from vaulting over the couch and taking Rachel into her arms – if not directly down onto the floor itself.

"Stay for dinner?" she asked, shaking her head to clear the mental image of herself and Rachel on the floor doing –

"Yes."

Rachel's reply was immediate and sincere, and it gave Quinn something to think about other than –

"What are we having?" Rachel asked, moving around the couch, closer to Quinn.

Sidestepping backwards to the kitchen, nearly desperate now to put the kitchen island between them, Quinn scrambled to think of what she had in her cabinets. "Anything," she said, "anything at all that you want." Anything at all, like going back into the living room and dropping down on the couch, losing all clothing and –

"Anything?" Rachel questioned, now leisurely making her way around the island, constantly closing the distance that Quinn _thought_ she had been rather successfully putting between them.

"Wait, no," Quinn corrected in a rush. "Not _anything_. Uhh…we'll check the cupboards!" But now Rachel was entirely between Quinn and said cupboards. "_You_ can check the cupboards," Quinn corrected. But what she really wanted to do was take Rachel right up against those damn cupboards and –

Quinn slapped a hand over her face. _Hard._

With a teasing smirk on her lips, Rachel turned on her heel and began perusing the cupboards and the refrigerator for ingredients. "Don't worry, Quinn," she said after a minute or two, "I want to wait." She turned and threw a look over her shoulder that had Quinn melting completely into a puddle-like mess on the kitchen floor. "Forty more days," she said. "I'm saving myself for you until then."

With a gulp, Quinn took back every single thought that had ever crossed her mind – all the way back from day ninety-nine to the last five minutes – about it being _easy_ or _cake_ or that _they could do it together_ concerning making it these last forty days until graduation.

As Quinn watched Rachel Berry scoot herself around the kitchen as if it was hers, she realized that it was going to be harder than she had ever before considered to make it through – for a whole new myriad of reasons.

And the salacious wink that Rachel had just leveled in her direction was Reason Number One.

* * *

**A/N:** To address a couple of questions that come up quite often – Rachel is 18, Quinn is 24-25; also, there are probably 5-6 chapters left after this one, I'm not entirely sure. Hope you enjoyed!


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the kind words about the last couple of chapters. It's been much appreciated! Also, please note that chapters 25 and 26 were posted very close together, so some people actually skipped chapter 25 entirely, or so I've been told; just wanted to make everyone aware of this in case chapter 26 seemed a little strange (there's also a little summary at the top of chapter 25 for the story up until that point if you need a little refresher). Enjoy!

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn's hands ran along the smooth grain of the kitchen island. She crossed her legs, sitting on the stool as she watched Rachel flit about from one cabinet to the next.

As if she belonged there.

A smile rested easily on Quinn's features, and it only grew when Rachel turned to look at her over one shoulder and she saw the same happiness reflected back at her.

"Oh!" Rachel suddenly exclaimed, having dropped a package of uncooked spaghetti noodles, spilling them spectacularly over the kitchen floor. "Oh my gosh," she started mumbling to herself, dropping down to her knees behind the counter.

Quinn lost sight of Rachel completely, but she found herself laughing uncontrollably at the sounds of Rachel frantically scrambling to pick up the pasta.

"Quinn," Rachel huffed, peeking her head up over the edge of the counter. One of her fists rested next to her face, and it was clenched and full of crumbling spaghetti. "This is no laughing matter. The five-second rule is a real thing, you know!"

It was perhaps the most indignant Quinn had ever seen Rachel, and she found that she enjoyed it _immensely_.

With a puff of air to blow her bangs out of her face, Rachel dropped back down to continue picking up the spilled pasta.

And it was in that exact moment – with Rachel disappearing again from view and Quinn chuckling softly into her hand – that the front door swung inward.

Quinn's body immediately tensed, and she hardly dared to shift in her seat as Will made his way into their apartment. Her fingers, splayed against the counter top, turned white.

"Hey Quinn," he hastily offered in greeting as he rushed into the apartment, heading towards his room.

Momentarily forgetting her voice, Quinn silently gaped at the edge of the kitchen island beyond which hid, she knew, her _student_. What was Will doing here? And, god forbid, what if he decided to make a _sandwich?_

Her thoughts, which were slowly gaining momentum towards absolute hysteria, were interrupted by her roommate rushing back into the kitchen. He was waving a DVD case in the air. "The recording of West Side Story that I got for Mom and Dad!" he said by way of explanation as he entered into Quinn's immediate vicinity. "Emma and I were nearly out of town before I remembered it!"

Quinn continued to gape like a fish.

"Were you cooking?" Will asked, looking around the kitchen, noticing a pot of water on the stove. His eyes darted to the floor, and Quinn instantly knew that he was taking in the spilled pasta. He turned worried eyes on her, and she moved to intervene before he thought she was having another heart attack or – _worse yet!_ – moved around the counter to assist her, thereby discovering a crouched and hiding Rachel.

"I decided to watch my carbs," Quinn blurted, her face instantly screwing up at the choice of word vomit that had spewed forth from her in her moment of indecision.

Will laughed and moved to pat Quinn's shoulder. "Oh, come on. You don't need to watch your carbs!" He laughed, and Quinn awkwardly chuckled. "Look, I'd help you clean up–"

"Please don't," Quinn whispered to herself, her voice miniscule.

"–but I've put us way behind schedule already," Will continued, uninterrupted, as he moved towards the front door. Quinn waved, trying not to look over eager at his departure. As his head was about to disappear from view, he called out, "And be sure to throw that pasta away, it's definitely been more than five seconds!"

And then he was gone.

Two full minutes passed in absolute silence. Quinn wasn't entirely sure whether or not Rachel was even on the other side of the counter anymore, the air was so still; maybe in their moment of desperation, Rachel had inextricably developed the power of teleportation.

Just as Quinn was preparing her vocal cords to whisper Rachel's name into the silence, the top of the other girl's head slowly rose up over the edge of the counter.

"_See_," Rachel persistently whispered, "I _told _you the five-second rule was real!"

Together, they dissolved into a fit of giggles, the tension of the moment effectively broken.

* * *

Quinn's last class had just filed out, and she found herself toying with a pen in one hand and the folded corner of her most recent post-it note from Rachel in the other: **30**, it read, and the way the infinity between their present and graduation continued to shrink day after day made it consistently easier to breathe. It was like a small miracle, Quinn realized.

The door to her classroom opened a few minutes later, and Quinn felt her face visibly light up as soon as she saw Rachel slowly walking towards her.

"Hi," Rachel quietly spoke as she approached, dropping her bag near Quinn's desk and stopping to lean against the nearest table.

"Hi, Rachel," Quinn replied, sliding the cap back on the pen that she had been fidgeting with before her student's arrival. "How are you?" She found herself fighting not to add the _sweetheart_ to the end of her statement as she very much wanted to do.

"I'm good," Rachel said, nodding her head slightly and looking down mostly at the tile beneath her shoes.

Standing, Quinn moved across the room and began erasing her marker strokes from the board; slowly, methodically. "Prom is this weekend," she said, knowing that Rachel already knew, of course. Quinn deposited the eraser back in its tray and wiped her hands together to remove any residue. She turned and looked at Rachel, and she could clearly see the excitement on the other girl's face.

"I told you about shopping this weekend with Shelby, right?" Rachel asked.

Quinn smiled and moved to lean against her own desk, Rachel a mere yard away from her, nothing between them at all beyond the palpable desire to reach out and touch the other. "You might've mentioned it," she teased, each of them knowing exactly how much Rachel had been looking forward to picking out a dress for prom. "Did you find the perfect dress?" Rachel nodded emphatically, biting her bottom lip, her eyes shining brightly. "You're going to have a great time."

"You'll be there, right?" Rachel asked.

Nodding, Quinn said, "I will be, yes. They needed a couple of extra chaperones, so I volunteered for the wrap-up shift. I'll be there from ten until just past midnight."

"Good," Rachel said. She pushed off of the desk and stepped closer to Quinn. The pleats in her skirt moved against her thighs as she walked, revealing both too little and far too much skin for Quinn's safety. "I'm glad that you'll get to see me. I was able to convince Shelby to go quite..._revealing_ with the design."

"Oh," Quinn gulped, "really?"

"Really..." Rachel trailed off, now practically standing between Quinn's legs.

Quinn's mind flashed back to the bathroom in the Lima Community Theatre. She could feel herself there, back when things were slightly more confusing and wild and uncertain – not that there wasn't still a healthy dose of all of the above still hanging in the air. She could imagine the soft feel of Rachel pressing closer and closer against her; she even felt the white hot knot of anticipation winding tightly in her stomach as she waited for words to cross Rachel's lips on a breath of exhalation, words that her heart felt would set her free, whatever they may be. Her brain was having trouble processing the moment beyond her recognition that her classroom was the perfect place to get them into some serious trouble; it was sending her into the same tailspin of ups versus downs and wrongs versus rights, but all she could do was beg her brain to get the signal through her nervous system to her lungs to just _breathe_.

"I'm sure the dress will look stunning on you," Quinn managed to say, deciding to grab onto whatever remnants of decency and courage she had left to get words out first.

"It'll all be for you, Quinn," Rachel whispered. And though she whispered, Quinn didn't need to strain to catch the words or the sentiment; she could practically _taste _them, they were uttered so close to her lips.

It was as if Quinn suddenly had two miniature selves on her shoulder – one Quinn with a pitchfork and another with a harp – and they were simultaneously cheering her on to push the damn limits and to put the brakes on. The little imaginary Quinn with the pitchfork was cuter though, as she was wearing a red, skin-tight jumpsuit with extraordinary spiked heels, Quinn decided, and so she opted to push. "_What_ will be for me?" Quinn asked, tilting her head to the side and staring down almost challengingly at Rachel.

Stepping impossibly closer, Rachel fit herself fully against Quinn's thighs, smashing whatever control Quinn thought she had over the situation to bits. Her left hand skated up Quinn's side, snaking around to her back and resting against Quinn's shoulder blade with only the thin material of Quinn's blouse between their skin. Rachel's fingernails dug tantalizingly into the sensitive flesh of Quinn's back, and Quinn found herself groaning, the sound terribly involuntarily, absolutely impossible to suppress.

"_Everything_," Rachel whispered, her breath ghosting against the shell of Quinn's ear.

With her eyes nearly rolling back in their sockets, Quinn said, "Tell me."

"The cut of the dress reveals most of my back in a long, deep V," Rachel replied, her other hand coming up to rest on Quinn's shoulder, her fingers gracing lightly over the exposed skin at the edge of Quinn's shirt.

...Quinn imagined trailing her fingertips down the bare skin of Rachel's back, between her shoulders, all the way down to the edge of her dress, just above her ass...

"In the front," Rachel continued, "you'll be able to see more than a little cleavage." Quinn whimpered. "I had to fight Shelby over that, actually."

...Quinn imagined pressing her lips to the swell of Rachel's breasts, slipping her hand inside the material, rubbing her thumb over the hardened peaks of Rachel's nipples...

"And the material clings tightly just–" she slipped her right hand to Quinn's, grabbing it and moving it around to reside on her skirt-covered ass. "–here," Rachel finished.

And Quinn was no longer imagining as her fingertips flexed around Rachel's firm backside, pulling her closer. Their hips met, and it wasn't just Quinn's whimpers filling the silence anymore; Rachel was quiet, but there was a ghost of a moan on her lips as her center pressed closer to Quinn's.

Then it was Quinn's name on Rachel's lips – _"Quinn..."_ – so soft and subtle as her mouth glided from Quinn's ear to her cheek and finally to the corner of her lips. "Rach," Quinn incoherently countered in a dance of sexual urgency and rapidly churning thoughts, too numerous to sort.

"Kiss me," Rachel demanded.

If the will to protest was somewhere inside of Quinn, then it successfully evaded her grasp in that moment. And so her head tilted slightly, leaning into Rachel's kiss. Their mouths hungrily connected, and Rachel's fingers dug even more tightly than before into Quinn's back, her other hand moving to grasp onto Quinn's upper arm. Quinn's free hand moved to cup the side of Rachel's face, caressing her as gently as the moment would allow – which wasn't particularly gentle at all – while her other hand pulled Rachel as close as the laws of the universe would allow.

The kiss had only just begun – really, only a moment in time had truly passed – when a strangled gasp echoed across the empty space of Miss Fabray's classroom.

The buildup between them had felt like hours – when, in actuality, school had only been out for half an hour at most. All it took for them to break apart, however, was a fraction of a second.

"Patrick," Quinn gasped, standing straight and tucking a strand of hair that had come loose back behind her ear. But her gasped utterance of his name went unnoticed because he could not hear it, and his eyes were trained on Rachel's trembling figure. Quinn took a couple of steps forward, raising her hands to sign and speak simultaneously. "Patrick," she tried again, "I can explain."

Her movements caught his attention, and his eyes briefly shifted to hers. The only thing Quinn was capable of registering in his gaze was absolute, devastating anguish.

He turned back to Rachel. With his lips locked tightly so that not a single sound left his body, he angrily signed, _Was __**this **__the reason you were hesitant about going to prom with me?_

Both Quinn and Rachel thought it would've been better to hear him yelling rather than see the emphatic and harsh gestures of his hands.

"Patrick, listen-" Quinn started to sign, but Rachel reached out and touched her arm to stop her. Patrick looked away quickly, as if seeing them touch even the littlest bit was too much for him to handle.

"Quinn, let me." She almost instantly removed her hand from Quinn's skin, and Quinn felt cold and empty and vaguely like a child.

Rachel took a couple of steps towards Patrick, opening her hands in a placating gesture, but he shook his head roughly and began backing up towards the door. He pushed it open and ran out into the hallway, a barely audible sob wrenching its way out of his throat as he disappeared.

Running the last few steps to the door, Rachel peered out into the hallway. She turned quickly back to Quinn and said, "Wait here." The pleading in her voice was present in great abundance. "I have to go find him. I'll be right back." Rachel nearly disappeared entirely out the door before stepping back in the room to momentarily take in Quinn's pale, unsteady figure. "_Please_," she said, one last opportunity to hold Quinn inside the room until she returned.

Already having wasted precious time, Rachel sprinted down the hallway in pursuit of Patrick.

In her room, Quinn shakily lowered herself down into the chair behind her desk. She rested her elbows on the surface of her desk and wrapped her hands around the back of her neck, slowly forcing deep, even breaths into her lungs.

Quinn had played this possible scenario out over and over in her mind: if they would get caught; what they would be doing; where they would be; who would do the catching; the reactions of all parties involved. And there wasn't a damn part of Quinn's sometimes-overactive imagination that could have possibly prepared her for the absolutely sickening feeling that was tearing its way through her chest. She really did feel like she was being ripped apart from the inside out, and maybe not even the girl who had disappeared from her room in a flash of beautiful brunette locks of hair could piece her back together...

* * *

Rachel found Patrick sitting in the back row of the dark, empty choir room. As she entered, the door closing silently behind her, Rachel flipped on one row of lights and made her way to the far side of the room.

_Hi_, she signed when she was sitting catty-corner to Patrick in one of the empty seats. The stillness of the choir room was something that they were both intimately familiar with, though it was oddly disconcerting after the uncomfortable scene that had taken place in Miss Fabray's room.

Patrick merely watched her hands out of the corner of his eye, but he did manage to respond with his own begrudgingly sincere _Hi, Rachel._

Rachel fiddled with the edge of the seat beneath her thigh, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek as she wondered what to say. Her thoughts hadn't been able to settle at all as she ran through the hallways looking for Patrick, so they were still an ungainly mess inside her head. Finally, she settled on a simple start. _I'm sure you're wondering how this happened._ When Patrick was quiet, simply furrowing his brow and remaining steadfastly motionless, Rachel continued, taking his stillness for acquiescence. _Back when we were doing our writing project first semester, Quinn helped me to_–

Patrick turned slightly in his seat, and Rachel was saddened to see his eyes shining with tears. _No, no, no,_ he gestured, shaking his head and sighing as he looked away, blinking up at the ceiling. When he looked back at Rachel, there were two tears making their way steadily down each of his cheeks. _I don't wonder how it happened, Rachel. I'm not surprised she fell in love with you. Anyone in this place who would've ever taken five minutes to stop and see you for who you are could have been head over heels in love with you straight away._ Rachel's jaw worked up and down fruitlessly for a moment before she settled on keeping it closed. A moment passed before the final truth fell between them like an anchor: _I know __**I**__ did,_ Patrick signed before dropping one hand to his lap and reaching back to scratch his neck with the other, seemingly just to give his hands something – _anything_ – to do other than pour out more of his unrequited feelings.

"I..." the syllable escaped Rachel's mouth – which had fallen open again in surprise upon Patrick's admission – before she could clamp her lips together once more to hold it in. Patrick's head tilted in her direction, his eyes soft and searching for something Rachel knew she could never give him. _I'm so sorry, Patrick,_ Rachel signed. And she meant it with all her heart.

It was all she could say, and it was all part of Patrick had expected from the beginning. He suspected that beautiful, talented girls like Rachel Berry were one in a million – perhaps one in a _billion – _and it was his own damn fault for waiting so long to tell her about his feelings in the first place. If there had been an opportunity there, he had missed it. But for so long, Rachel Berry had been an enigma to all of the Haverbrook kids – always keeping to herself, clearly able to hear but choosing not to speak. She was an outsider trying to fit in, but only letting herself remain on the fringes all the same. And Patrick, for all of his curiosities about Rachel from the beginning, had never reached out to her until he started noticing a small smile on her face more and more often – a smile he now knew was probably linked to their English teacher. _God, _if only he had acted sooner! But even then, he realized, he may have been fighting a losing battle from the start...

_Don't be sorry,_ he signed. And he truly meant it; the last thing he wanted from Rachel was her pity.

_The situation, _Rachel signed, _is very delicate. I'm sure you can imagine. She's our teacher, after all. The last thing I want is for my involvement with her to disrupt her teaching career, and– _

"Rachel!" Patrick said out loud, his voice effectively surprising Rachel enough to cause her ASL rant to stall out before it gained too much momentum. _I'm not going to turn in Miss Fabray to the principal or anything, okay?_ Rachel bit her lip, and the hopeful look on her face reminded Patrick why he had fallen in love with this girl in the first place. _I know that would hurt you, and I could never do that._

_Thank you, Patrick. Thank you so much._ And then Rachel leaned forward, and she embraced Patrick around the neck, hugging him tightly. He almost hesitantly wrapped his arms around her back, but before long, he was squeezing her just as tightly in return as she was him.

_We can still have a great time on Saturday at prom, right?_ Rachel questioned hopefully.

_Of course we can, _Patrick agreed. _We can have the __**best **__time._

* * *

Across the school from the choir room in the language department, Quinn was still sitting with her head in her hands, staring unseeingly at her desk. Off to her right, a flash of pink caught her unfocused eye. The post-it note that loudly proclaimed the number **30 **for the world to see was blatantly staring back at her as she shifted her head to look more closely.

Quinn reached out and grabbed the note, pulling it nearer to her face. She held it lightly between the fingertips of both of her hands, wondering – not for anything remotely close to the first time – what it all _meant._ Why she was _here. _What she was _doing_.

With actions resembling deft certitude but laced with inner-fear and trepidation, Quinn shredded the post-it note completely, scraping the remnants up and dropping them into the trashcan next to her desk.

Grabbing her belongings, Quinn left her room with surefooted steps, hastily heading towards her car via a route that she hoped would help her avoid any and all Haverbrook students.

* * *

Rachel walked slowly through the halls at Patrick's side. They had just finished discussing – in brief detail, Rachel had decided prior to delving into the conversation – the proper etiquette of corsage giving. They were to the student entrance of the school where Patrick had parked his car that day, and it was time to say goodbye.

_I'm glad we were able to talk about this,_ Rachel said as they reached the double exit doors.

_Me too, _Patrick agreed. _And I'm really looking forward to seeing you on Saturday. I'm sure you're going to look absolutely beautiful._

Rachel smiled softly and waved goodbye, but the smile didn't last on her face. It was both a relief and a new, heavy burden to know someone else shared the truth about her secret relationship with Quinn.

But as Rachel turned and headed back towards Quinn's classroom, the main thing that Rachel found herself considering was the way in which Patrick had said she would look beautiful on Saturday, but _Quinn _had made it seem as if it was _Rachel _who would be doing _the dress _the favor at prom by making _it _look beautiful.

A true smile formed on her lips as Rachel allowed the wave of warmth that she had come to associate with her love for Quinn Fabray to wash over her.

Upon entering Quinn's room, however, the other woman's name sputtered out from Rachel's parted lips with astounding uncertainty. She found it completely empty, and that emptiness left her feeling immediately as if there wasn't enough warmth in the entire world, an overwhelmingly harsh contrast to her state mere seconds before.

"Hello?" she quietly whispered, as if speaking softly and moving slowly would make Quinn suddenly reappear in her midst.

But Rachel had no such luck as she approached Quinn's desk on the far side of the room. There was no sign of any of Quinn's things at all. Rachel turned to bend down and pick up her bag from where she had dropped it after school, and something in the trash can caught her eye.

As she saw the shredded bits and pieces of pink paper, Rachel felt something inside of her aching more powerfully than it had in a very long time.

Rachel burst back into the hallway with her cell phone already in her hand, dialing Quinn's number. When the voicemail picked up, she chose to disconnect the call and send a text instead. **Q, it's okay. Everything is alright. Please, don't give up on this. Don't give up on me. Call me when you can.** And as a final addendum to her written message, Rachel lovingly added, **Wear your seatbelt, and be safe with my heart.**

* * *

In the parking lot, Quinn saw her phone vibrate but did not move to answer it. She proceeded to back out of her parking spot and head away from Haverbrook, the afternoon's events weighing heavily on her mind.

She _had_ to talk to _someone_, and that someone, she had decided, was going to be Caleb.

With staggering finality, Quinn headed back to her apartment with the understanding that it was time to come clean to her baby brother.


	28. Chapter 28

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn laid on her side in bed, and her only recognition of time passing was the way the shadows on the wall in front of her face were changing with the setting sun. Soon, it would be dark entirely.

And still, she hadn't answered a single text or missed phone call.

Every blink seemed slow and deliberate, even though Quinn wasn't really thinking about anything at all. It was a defense mechanism of sorts that Santana had taught her back in their senior year of high school when things had been particularly rough between Quinn and her father; the clearing of her mind had seemed _so difficult_ at first, but Santana had been a diligent teacher.

Now, however, Quinn wasn't sure if Santana had done her a favor or just taught her a particularly efficient yet simultaneously unproductive method of coping – called _not coping_.

Her phone had last buzzed menacingly at her approximately one hour and thirty-six minutes before (Quinn had noted the time). With a sigh, she rolled over onto her back away from the clock and her cell phone – both of which seemed to be glaring at her, if animate objects could do such a thing.

"What are you _doing_, Quinn?" she asked herself, absolutely _not_ expecting the answer to be forthcoming – especially not from herself, a self who was pathetically incapable of answering such simple questions at the moment.

Giving her body another push, Quinn continued to roll the rest of the way off of her bed, barely managing to catch herself on her feet on the floor – now effectively on the opposite side of the room from her phone, the device perpetuating her current mental torture.

She walked over to her desk, her sock-covered feet padding softly on the carpet as she approached her destination. Quinn willed her hands not to shake as she opened her laptop, waking it from its slumber to carry out the task she had set before herself.

It was a Thursday, and she and Caleb made it a habit of making themselves available for video chats on Friday afternoons; but Quinn hoped that her bad luck would shift to the good side of things and that she'd find him online.

As Quinn double-clicked the Skype icon in the bottom corner of her screen, she found herself holding her breath. And her fists, they were clenched on top of her thighs. "_Breathe_," she managed to get out past her tightly locked jaw. Caleb would know in a heartbeat – even over the distance between them that the internet miraculously managed to shorten – that something was wrong if she kept this up.

And she was going to _have _to relax because, as Fate would have it, Caleb was indeed signed in on this Thursday evening.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn clicked on the button to call her brother and found herself simultaneously hoping that he would and wouldn't answer.

The ringing tone in the air was the only sound in the otherwise still silence of Quinn's room. Her eyes remained steadfastly fixated on her brother's icon until, suddenly, his face filled her screen instead.

"Quinn!" he exclaimed, waving at his big sister via their internet connection.

"Hi, Caleb," Quinn signed and spoke. She was glad that he couldn't hear the way her voice had pitifully cracked on his name.

_I am so glad you called,_ Caleb signed, his movements quick. He was obviously excited – about what, Quinn wasn't certain. _I have big news for you!_

_I have news as well, little brother_, Quinn replied, this time choosing not to speak aloud, only to sign. _But please, tell me your news first._

And Caleb hardly needed Quinn's prompting at all to proclaim, _Tina and I are getting married!_ And, upon this announcement, Quinn's breath caught for multiple reasons. First and foremost, it hit her as unexpectedly as her heart attack that her little brother was no longer really very _little_ at all. Then, as Caleb continued gesturing emphatically in rushed, fragmented sentences about how his boss, Sue, had helped him set up the art gallery and how his proposal had been _"grossly romantic"_, Quinn knew that now was not the time for her to share her own revelation.

_Caleb_, Quinn signed when Caleb finally settled with his hands flat on the desk in front of him, as if to stop himself from saying more and dominating completely the conversation, _I am so happy for you. Congratulations._

The emotions playing out on her face and the tears welling up in her eyes, she hoped, suggested only evidence of her great love for her brother and the steps he would soon be taking with his girlfriend – _fiancée_, Quinn mentally corrected herself – and not that she was falling apart at the seams.

_Don't cry, Quinn_, Caleb signed, a soft, misled-but-understanding smile on his face. _This is a really exciting time. Tina and I are very happy._

Quinn nodded, ducking her head from the screen momentarily before looking back into her brother's eyes and signing, _I would really like to hug you right now_.

Caleb tilted his head and smiled the sweetest of smiles – a rare thing that Russell had passed onto his children, though he hardly used his own. _Come visit Tina and me. I will show you around D.C., and you will finally get to see where I work and what I do. Something tells me you will really like Sue, even though she tends to be a hard ass._

Chuckling, a real smile touching her lips at the idea of getting away and visiting her brother, Quinn nodded again. _I would really love that. Maybe I can visit you in a couple of weeks? Sometime before graduation_, she added, already reformulating how she would tell Caleb about Rachel – this time, in person.

And besides, it wasn't like the thing between herself and Rachel was really _defined_, even at this point, Quinn sadly reasoned with herself. Love was like a stealthy enigma that had appeared so slowly – yet abruptly – in her life that, if it had been a venomous snake, Quinn probably would've been dead and buried. And even now, with Patrick happening upon her and Rachel in her classroom, Quinn's thoughts about the situation in its entirety were being thrown to the wolves, despite the confidence she had been attempting to build upon over the past several months.

Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes at herself and the overuse of puns in her thoughts, and instead focused back on her brother's face.

_Absolutely_, Caleb replied, sighing wistfully as he stared at Quinn on his screen, resting his elbows on his desk with his chin in his palms.

_You are engaged, baby brother,_ Quinn signed, reaching to wipe away the tears from her cheeks quickly before smiling brightly at the computer screen, truly proud of Caleb and the loving young man he had become. _I cannot wait to come see you._

They spent a few more minutes talking, finalizing plans for Quinn's visit, and were about to disconnect when Caleb exclaimed, "Oh!" and proceeded to ask, _I am so rude. You had news too! What did you want to tell me, Quinn?_

With a soft smile on her lips, Quinn shook her head. "We'll leave that for another time."

_You know I am always here for you, Quinn_, Caleb responded, speaking Quinn's name aloud.

Glancing down briefly at her lap, Quinn chuckled slightly before flicking her eyes back to her webcam and signing, _It is one of my few comforts in life. How could I forget?_

They said their goodbyes, Quinn bought her plane ticket to the capital for the weekend after prom, and then she closed her laptop with a striking note of finality. Her eyes shifted back over to her phone on the far side of the room as if she was sizing up an adversary of great proportions.

Then Quinn stood, walked over to it, picked it up, and read every text that Rachel had left for her before typing out her own reply.

Because fear was no reason to shut out one of the people in the word whom Quinn cared for the most. It was a lesson, really, that she had learned from Rachel a long time ago.

* * *

Patrick put his father's classy car into park upon arrival at Rachel's house. He immediately reached up, smoothing the palms of his hands along the lapels of his rented tuxedo. It was "simply classic", as per Rachel's detailed description and request, something Patrick didn't entirely understand, but something he certainly wasn't going to question.

Not when he was going to have Rachel Berry on his arm for an entire evening.

Stepping out of the car onto the sidewalk, his shiny black dress shoes practically sparkled in the pink and orange rays of the sun as it shifted across the sky and towards the horizon. Patrick closed the door behind him and turned, making his way up the sidewalk to the house.

But before he could even get close enough to ring the doorbell, the front door was flung wide, and Rachel's mom was gesturing him inside with a huge smile on her face and a camera clutched in one hand.

"Come in, come in," Shelby said excitedly as she gestured for Rachel's date – _Rachel's date!_, she thought giddily – to step inside the house.

Ms. Corcoran was babbling a mile a minute, and Patrick literally had not a clue as to what she was saying. But her overflowing, positive energy was contagious, so he just smiled and nodded and walked inside the house as if this was any other day.

When really, it wasn't like any other day _ever_. Because Rachel had just appeared at the top of the stairs.

And Patrick _knew_ Rachel was taken. He _knew_ Rachel wasn't his, even if it was supposed to appear as such for one magical evening. He _knew_ that even if his fingertips were to touch the tantalizingly smooth skin of her arm or her shoulder or her back that it wasn't _his_ by any means of his imagination – and an active imagination he _definitely_ possessed.

Patrick _knew_ that Rachel belonged to another, but as she descended the stairs in front of him, he understood the clichés about angels singing hallelujah choruses even though he had no real concept of what that could possibly sound like.

Rachel's hair was elegantly twisted up into a beautiful arrangement of curls on top of her head, and her long bangs were swept back to one side. Patrick had been prodding for details about her dress, but Rachel had remained stoically silent about the matter; but as she lifted it gently at the thigh so as to not step on the hem with the killer heels that Patrick saw peeking out from underneath, he suddenly understood why she had requested he wear a tux that was "simply classic".

Patrick was no expert when it came to fashion. But he was something of a classic film buff – there was always something beautiful to him about the way people moved onscreen and how he hardly even needed the subtitles to understand what was going on because of the rich facial and body expressions – and everything about Rachel was screaming _old Hollywood glamour_ to Patrick. Her makeup was simple yet strikingly beautiful and possessed a subtle homage to Holly Golightly that Patrick couldn't have missed if he'd wanted to. The deep, impenetrable black of her dress made Patrick feel like he was looking up into the moving frames of a black and white film, like he became in that instant Rick Blaine and Rachel was his Ilsa Lund and that, any moment now, she'd be standing a hair's breadth from him whispering, _"Kiss me as if it were the last time,"_ and _of course_ Patrick would do anything she'd ask of him (and he knew he wasn't getting the girl in the end, so it seemed fitting).

It took everything in him to keep from dropping his jaw to the floor.

Upon reaching the bottom step in the foyer, Rachel spun around in an almost silly fashion, and Patrick wanted – more than a little – to kiss away the self-conscious look on her face. But a quick reminder to himself that he had missed his chance was enough to settle him firmly back in his designated role as _friend_ and _prom date_, nothing more but also nothing less. And that was a small victory in his favor, he knew.

"Hi Patrick," Rachel said, her hands moving almost shyly at the same time.

Patrick's eyes only momentarily left Rachel's to glance down at her right hand as she spelled out his name. _Good evening, Rachel_, he signed in return before dropping into a shallow bow, more of a polite incline of his head than anything, really. It made Rachel smile, and that made Patrick feel like even more of a movie star.

"Oh!" Shelby exclaimed suddenly, jumping up from where she had been anxiously sitting just beyond the foyer at the dining room table. Rachel turned to her quickly, and Patrick's gaze followed. "I've forgotten the empty memory card!" And then she was rushing between Patrick and Rachel in a frenzy, leaving behind something of a tepid calm in her wake.

_I apologize for her_, Rachel signed, stepping a bit closer, and Patrick was quick to reassure Rachel that there was absolutely nothing to apologize for. _She is just so excited,_ Rachel continued, biting at the inside of her cheek, _it has been an absolute madhouse here all day. I really cannot wait to get out of here..._ Rachel's signing trailed off as Shelby rushed back into their vicinity, triumphant smile on her face as she held the camera aloft like a trophy. _But I think we will be subjected to picture taking first._

The look on Rachel's face was still apologetic, and Patrick didn't really have adequate words to express exactly how much he _really_ didn't mind having this night documented. _No worries, I have no problem humoring your mom with some pictures before we leave._ His own grin and understanding words were rewarded with a beaming smile from Rachel, and he couldn't have possibly been happier when she stepped closer to him, threading her hand through his arm. Shelby immediately began snapping pictures and babbling on and on about _what_, Patrick could only guess; likely it was the beauty of her daughter and how proud Shelby was of her and how this was the kind of night every kid deserved to experience.

Or _something_. On any other day, it would have felt cheesy to the _n_th degree to Patrick, but he found himself enjoying it immensely.

Patrick felt Rachel speaking out loud next to him, so he turned to her and watched her lips, easily enough realizing that she was implying to Shelby that she and Patrick would have to be let go _eventually_ but ideally _soon_ in order to get to their dinner reservation on time. Patrick turned to Shelby who seemed to have inextricably remembered her manners and was signing to him as they all made their way to the front door.

"Patrick," Shelby said, speaking but also signing at what Patrick recognized as a fairly rudimentary skill level, but one that he appreciated greatly nonetheless, "Take care of my daughter, and I fully expect to see you two home no later than half past midnight, understood?" Patrick nodded seriously, though he had to fight off his own laugh at the situation when he caught Rachel covering her lips to stifle her own giggle.

They were almost to the car when Shelby added, "And while I can't say that I know every cop in town, I _do_ know your parents!"

And that was _definitely_ enough to keep Patrick from laughing as they bid their final goodbyes.

* * *

Dinner at Breadstix – one of their town's only even _relatively_ high class restaurants – had been short, sweet, and uneventful. Rachel kind of really _hated_ the place, but Patrick hadn't known that, so there was nothing to be said for the half of a mediocre vegan meatball she had nobly suffered through the eating of.

But dinner was done, and it was time for them to arrive fashionably late – otherwise known as _on time_ – for one of the biggest events of their high school lives.

Though the night was only just beginning, Rachel wasn't sure that _anything_ could possibly land near the pinnacle of receiving admittance into Juilliard. But she was approaching it with an open mind, of course, and she _absolutely_ couldn't wait until ten o'clock when Quinn would be arriving as a faculty chaperone. The mere thought of Quinn seeing her in just a couple of hours was enough to make her drop the visor and check her makeup and hair in the mirror; her appearance was still flawless, and she sat back in the seat with a pleased tilt to her lips.

When they got closer to the school, Patrick pointed through the windshield of the car, and Rachel quickly spotted the lights. They looked questioningly at each other in wonderment, and as they pulled into the parking lot – where several different teachers were acting as valets – they exchanged smiles as they realized that the bright spotlights they'd seen from afar had actually been heralding their arrival to Haverbrook. They may have been having prom in their gymnasium, but Rachel knew that their school went all out on the event annually, hiring a company from Cleveland specifically tailored to making any venue memorable for their Deaf clientele.

And memorable, Rachel realized as she stepped onto the rolled out red carpet and made her way inside on Patrick's arm, it certainly was going to be.

Producing two tickets, Patrick handed them to a smiling Mr. Rumba who had obviously been assigned to keep interlopers out. He smiled, told them to have a great time, and ushered them inside.

The lighting was subtle yet gorgeous at first as they made their way under the richly decorated terrace in front of the wide open double doors, elegantly disguised to look absolutely _nothing_ like a typical high school. A path was cut from the school's entrance near the out-of-sight administrative offices straight to the gym's entrance which had also been creatively decorated in white and silver and black and midnight blue with subtle hints of red throughout. And while Patrick had earlier thought of Rachel as very _Hollywood_, she was now thinking the same thing about the transformation that had taken place over the past couple of days to their school.

Before they even stepped into the gym, Rachel could feel the bass pounding beneath her feet. The song playing was something that she vaguely recognized as being a top forty hit from the recent charts; but the music wasn't meant to be _heard_, it was meant to be _felt_. Rachel's eyes quickly scanned the room and found the dance floor where several people were already moving to the beat, and she realized that the smile on her face really was not going _anywhere_ – not tonight, at least.

The bleachers had been pushed back, folded up, and draped with numerous textiles befitting the color scheme of the evening. As Patrick and Rachel walked by, Rachel reached her fingers out to trail along the fabrics and was amazed to feel that they were comprised of many different textures – it was a veritable feast for the senses as her touch picked up the differences and her eyes took in all of the colors and the sheer transformation of the gym, and then her _nose_ picked up the delicious smells of the refreshment area. The lights, the colors, the chocolate and punch fountains and hors d'oeuvres and just _everything_ had Rachel's breath catching in her throat.

Patrick was quick to fill a small cup of punch for each of them before leading them to a table across the room where several of their fellow senior choir members were seated. Small chat ensued as Rachel timidly sipped at the punch – which she quickly ascertained was _not_ spiked. Rachel watched as her – yes – _friends_ conversed in ASL around her, thankful for the mode of speech since the music was _quite_ loud, though the bass tones were the primary frequency coming through the speakers that were set up on all sides of the dance floor. Before much time at all had passed, Patrick was leaning over Rachel's shoulder and subtly whispering in her ear, "Wanna dance?"

Rachel practically hopped up out of her seat, her hand in Patrick's as they made their way to the dance floor. Several of the lowerclassmen greeted them with smiles and waves as they moved over for the seniors – a station of understood power that Rachel had miraculously never quite realized she was a part of until just then – and they began dancing. For the most part, their moves were goofy, but Rachel had taken dance lessons for years in her youth, so she certainly knew how to move her body – and she was more than pleasantly surprised to find that, despite Patrick's lack of hearing ability, his hips were moving very well to the thump of the bass in his chest. It took them a couple of songs to really get into the groove, but Rachel could tell that they were fitting well together before long.

But there was another person Rachel knew she fit even better with, whose body fit closer more easily and whose movements would've matched Rachel's in a heartbeat instead of three song lengths. It was a shame, Rachel thought, that she and Quinn wouldn't be dancing together that night.

And it wasn't that Quinn was ever far from Rachel's thoughts, but the sudden shift of Rachel's imagination to the mental image of Quinn's arms wrapped around her as they danced to the pulsating beat was enough to have her head up and looking around, the dance floor quite forgotten for the moment.

"Rachel?" Patrick questioned, his own movements stilling as he followed Rachel just past one of the tall speakers.

After a hasty scan of the room, Rachel turned back to her date. _Sorry_, she signed, _I was just looking for... _Her movements trailed off, unsure as to how easily Patrick would accept her talk of Quinn outside of a strictly academic setting.

Patrick surprised Rachel a bit by nodding and asking, _Is she here yet?_

_Not yet,_ Rachel responded, reaching down to Patrick's wrist and angling it so she could see the face of his watch. It was a couple of minutes past ten o'clock, and Quinn should be there at any minute.

With another look around the gymnasium, Rachel let her eyes linger on each of the half dozen or so teachers stationed at various points around the gym. Spotting a scene unfolding across the room, Rachel laughed and pointed towards the punch fountain where one of the sophomores was attempting to pour some kind of liquor into the base. But he had been foiled by the sharp eyes of Mr. Rumba. As one song ended and another began, Rachel heard Mr. Rumba's shout of, "I may be Deaf in one ear – _scarlet fever!_ – but I'm certainly not blind!"

"Another dance?" Patrick half-shouted from next to Rachel after they finished laughing at the attempt on the punch's integrity.

Rachel was turning to agree and head back towards the dance floor when movement near the entrance caught her attention. No one was allowed in after a certain time, so it _had_ to be–

"Wow," Rachel gasped, the word lost, not even to be properly heard by herself beneath the din of the prom goings on. And _wow_ was just about the only thing Rachel's mind could come up with as she stared at Quinn's figure as the older woman made her way into the room.

Quinn's hair was long and flowing, parts of it connecting in braids in the back to keep it mostly out of her face, but some of it was pulled over the front of her shoulder, leading Rachel's eyes down to the perfectly fitted white button-down Quinn was wearing. A tasteful number of buttons were undone; Quinn's cleavage certainly wasn't competing with _Rachel's_ tonight, but it was enough to have Rachel practically salivating at the sight. The shirt was expertly rolled up at the sleeves and was perfectly tucked into Quinn's dark grey slacks, accented by a thin black belt around her waist. Unsurprisingly, the slacks also fit Quinn as if they were specifically tailored for her – _which_, Rachel reasoned, _they might have been_ – and fell just on top of the shoes she was wearing, hitting them mid-heel in the back.

She was walking perfection, and Rachel was damn near close to hiking up her dress and sprinting across the room to throw herself into Quinn's arms.

But she somehow managed to refrain. The post-it note with the **28** handwritten on it was pressed inside Rachel's dress alongside her breast, and it was a not-so-subtle reminder for both herself and Quinn that the end was closer than ever before.

Patrick stood by near Rachel's shoulder and looked anywhere but between the two women, having realized that something intimate was likely to be happening between them soon and not wanting to be caught in the middle of those gazes.

After Quinn entered and before she got close enough to speak to the nearest teacher, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes locked with Rachel's, and Rachel knew that she herself was being scrutinized in that moment just as much if not more so than she had done only moments before. As Quinn looked on, Rachel turned to face her full on before subtle turning in a three-sixty under the guise of looking around the dance floor.

It was Rachel's way of saying, _Feel free to look, because it's all yours._

Quinn's jaw went noticeably slack, and Rachel smiled satisfactorily as if she had come out on top in some unspoken competition between them.

But as Rachel gave a tiny wave – which Quinn received with a wink and a nod – Rachel knew that they were both winners in the end.

* * *

About an hour and a half after Quinn arrived, she watched as the prom king and queen were announced. They were both students of hers – Matthew, one of the best basketball players Haverbrook had seen in years; the other, Janelle, one of the most well-liked and beautiful girls in school – and Quinn couldn't have been happier for them. As the crowns were placed on their heads, Quinn looked across the crowd for Rachel's face. And when Quinn caught sight of her, she saw only happiness with no trace of disappointment, and that was enough for Quinn.

Since she had arrived, Quinn had almost had to force her attention away from Rachel. Because every time she looked at the beautiful girl, she was enthralled, certainly, by the stunning dress and the way in which it accented Rachel's natural beauty; but even more than that, Quinn couldn't look away from Rachel's eyes – they glimmered gorgeously amongst the sea of spectacular lights along the lowered ceiling, and Quinn knew she had never seen anything more perfect in her life. She had been staring – _observing_ – quite a lot; but really, it had absolutely been worth it.

The night, Quinn knew, was drawing to a close. And the sticky note Rachel had slipped to her earlier was evidence enough that **28** would soon be **27**, and then they were just _that_ much closer to graduation.

Making one last circuit around the gymnasium, Quinn collected some punch in a glass as it spilled from the fountain, sipping just enough of it to confirm that it had gone un-spiked for the duration of the night's festivities before continuing back towards the exit. The kids had started to head home or to after-prom parties, and Quinn was one of the teachers who was assigned to see everyone off. She stationed herself next to the open doors and bid everyone a good night, imploring them all to drive safely and take care of themselves.

During a lull in the dispersion of bodies, Quinn glanced back towards the gym and saw Rachel and Patrick coming towards her. Rachel, however, broke away towards the restrooms, and Patrick continued towards the exit doors.

_Good evening, Miss Fabray, _Patrick said, coming to stop a few feet in front of her, leaning back against the doorframe, a content smile on his lips.

A couple of students passed between them, and Quinn gave them her standard _be safe_ bit before addressing Patrick. "Hi Patrick. Did you have a good time?"

He nodded with a brilliant smile on his face, and Quinn felt reassured by that – as well as the conversation she'd had with Rachel the night before – that Patrick wouldn't be betraying Rachel's confidence or turning Quinn into the administration, despite however much the situation actually warranted it. And the next words he signed to her sealed the deal, effectively calming Quinn's nerves.

_I just want you to know_, he signed, _that I may be in the minority on this issue, but I really do see how Rachel lights up around you. And because of that, there is not any way that I couldn't support you two._

In response, Quinn said nothing; there really wasn't anything to be said beyond what her gratefully shimmering eyes were already proclaiming.

Quinn caught sight of Rachel in her peripheral vision. She turned her head and smiled in the other girl's direction, as did Patrick. For a moment, Rachel curiously glanced between Patrick and Quinn, wondering if there was something she had missed. But then Quinn was speaking and signing, "Have a good night, you two. Drive safely."

And as they disappeared down the still unfurled red carpet, Quinn quietly whispered to herself, "And be safe with my heart."

* * *

Maybe Patrick was driving slower than he normally would. _Maybe_. But really, he didn't think there were many people who could possibly blame him for trying to prolong his night with the beautiful girl sitting next to him.

It was exactly one minute until Rachel's curfew when Patrick pulled up alongside the curb in front of the house. Rachel turned to him, but Patrick pointed towards the front window, which was lit from the inside. They both looked on as the curtain flicked closed; apparently Shelby was still up. Patrick watched happily as Rachel visibly giggled at the spectacle of her mother.

"Patrick," Rachel spoke his name, and he could practically feel the wave of her voice wash over him. She leaned her head back against the seat and smiled at him before lifting her hands and signing, _I had a great time tonight. Thank you so much._

With a sudden boldness even he was typically unaccustomed to and that Rachel definitely wasn't expecting, Patrick reached out and gently grasped Rachel's fingertips, bringing her closer as he leaned down to kiss the back of her hand. "Thank _you_, Rachel," Patrick spoke out loud, his words somewhat muddled but easily understandable.

Her fingers still in Patrick's hand, Rachel gave him a quick squeeze before getting out of the car and making her way inside.

As he watched her go, Patrick felt more like Ilsa than Rick as he thought to himself, _I wish I didn't love you so much._

* * *

The door had barely snapped into place behind Rachel before Shelby was practically sliding out into the hallway from the living room, not saying a word but silently – and quite blatantly – begging for details. Rachel spun the lock into place before going into the living room, already mentally preparing herself for a replay of the entire night for Shelby.

Well, maybe not the _entire_ night, Rachel thought, the recollection of Quinn's lust-filled eyes when Rachel had removed the note from its hiding place still fresh in her mind. She would definitely be editing _that_ part out.

Shelby was practically buzzing with energy, and before Rachel had even settled on the couch, she asked, "Red Bull?"

"_Maybe_," Shelby responded, drawing out the word into far more than its standard two syllables.

"One or two?" Rachel asked again, this time laughing outright.

"Just one!" Shelby claimed. "And it was hours ago!"

Rachel wasn't used to speaking for great lengths of time, but Shelby was the perfect audience and Rachel really _had_ loved telling stories when she was younger. Before either of them even realized it, it was one thirty in the morning and Shelby's sugar high was almost finished running its course; she would be crashing soon, Rachel knew, so it was time for them both to head to bed.

Shelby groggily climbed the stairs just ahead of Rachel, stopping and turning to her daughter as they reached the second floor landing. Before Rachel knew what was happening, Shelby was hugging her, and Rachel's hands – full of several bobby pins and her shoes – were haphazardly clutching at Shelby's back.

"I love you, Rachel."

Rachel's eyes squeezed closed, and she hugged Shelby tighter. "I love you too–" and she paused for an almost imperceptible amount of time before adding "–Mom" to the end of her statement.

Rachel really wasn't sure that she could explain to someone why she had never referred to Shelby as _Mom_ before – at least not to the woman herself, though she had certainly called Shelby _her mom_ over the years. Maybe it was the fact that she had spent the first ten years of her life without using the term in any particularly meaningful context; maybe she had felt too old to start changing old habits when she had moved in with Shelby after losing her dads. Shelby had always been her mom, but she had never just been Mom – until suddenly, she _was_.

Nothing was said about it though, and Rachel easily accepted the kiss Shelby planted on her forehead before they each went to their own bedrooms. Rachel wasn't even fully out of her dress before she heard Shelby snoring from down the hall.

And that confirmation of Shelby's unconsciousness was just what Rachel needed to be spurred into action.

She left her hair mostly up as it had been for the night, and she didn't even bother removing her makeup. Stripping off her dress, Rachel hastily threw on a pair of shorts and a long sleeve shirt before grabbing her tennis shoes and tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs and out the front door.

Quinn would be home by now, Rachel knew, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to get a good night kiss.


	29. Chapter 29

**The Silence of Silence**

It was just after two o'clock in the morning when Rachel slowed her run to a stop in front of Quinn's apartment building.

She had expected the parking lot to be void of life, and that was why she wasn't behaving in a particularly stealthy fashion. She had expected to have to call Quinn to let her inside, and that was why she had her cell phone clutched in her right hand. She had expected the darkness of the night to envelop her completely and keep her concealed from the sleeping world around her, and that was why the full moon being revealed by shifting cloud coverage surprised her, effectively lighting her way home – to Quinn.

What Rachel _hadn't _expected was to arrive at Quinn's apartment building only to be met by Quinn herself as she made her way outside.

"Quinn," Rachel gasped, beginning to slow her heart rate with deep, soothing breaths. Her hands were on her hips as she took a couple of steps towards the other woman on the sidewalk.

Quinn didn't stop at all as she moved away from the building and closer to Rachel. "Hi," Quinn said, and Rachel couldn't help the smile that blossomed across her face – both at the lovely and innocent but strikingly beautiful husk of Quinn's voice and the way in which Rachel was greeted as if Quinn wasn't surprised in the slightest to see her.

As Quinn approached, she still refused to slow her pace. She merely reached out with her fingertips as she passed Rachel and – in a wonderfully effortless gesture – laced their hands together before effectively tugging Rachel with her down the sidewalk.

"Quinn," Rachel said, this time with the smallest of question marks tilting the name upward off of her tongue, "are we going somewhere?"

Coming to a stop near the passenger side door of her car, Quinn squared her body so that she was standing perfectly parallel to Rachel. Time didn't slow to a standstill and the world didn't fade away around them, but the light breeze seemed to die down and the crickets chirping in the grass ceased to make noise if only for a moment; Quinn's fingertips traced lightly first along the accentuated line of Rachel's makeup near her eye before proceeding to tuck a stray curl back behind Rachel's ear.

"We're going somewhere," Quinn replied, "if you're up for coming along with me."

There was a tension in the air between them, and it wasn't a tension that they were unaccustomed to by any means. It seemed that, constantly, there was a palpable taste to the air that rested between them – a pure desire personified by magnetic waves, pulsating around them and through them constantly. And when they were this close – when Quinn's skin met Rachel's and when Rachel's chest, heaving subtly between them from the sheer effort of maintaining adequate lung capacity, was brushing almost imperceptibly against Quinn's – it was absolutely electrifying.

The word left Rachel's mouth before her mind was even given a chance to process it, and maybe that was little more than their love for each other at work.

"Always," she said, tilting her head to press her cheek against Quinn's open palm. Her eyes fluttered shut as they breathed in the moment, their bodies achingly close but hardly daring to close the minuscule gap between them. Rachel's eyelids fluttered, and Quinn's breath stilled completely as she gazed down through thick eyelashes into stunning brown eyes.

Quinn didn't just want to tell Rachel that she loved her in that moment, perhaps more than any other previous moment in their time together; Quinn wanted to shout to the night sky and the full moon beyond the parting clouds that she was completely, devastatingly in love with Rachel Berry.

But the parking lot next to Quinn's car may have been the furthest scene imaginable from a crowded night in Times Square.

...And yet, Quinn could practically feel the words forming on her lips anyway, yearning to break forth and spill across the space between and around them. The look on Rachel's face was so full of love and adoration that Quinn could quite literally feel it somewhere inside her chest, bursting apart. The energy between them was tangibly pulsing with every beat of their hearts as they miraculously kept perfect time together. And Quinn found it impossible to ignore the dampness between her legs as she remembered the stunning vision Rachel had been at prom – and was still, here, now, in casual attire standing before her; Quinn couldn't possibly have ignored the raging beast that roared somewhere below her breast, _Mine! _as she gazed hungrily down at Rachel...

But there were the neighbors to consider.

Instead of saying anything at all, Quinn pressed her body forward, easing Rachel back and out of her way slightly so that she could pull the door open. The entire time, their eyes remained locked, and a part of Quinn knew that Rachel had the same bestial desires tumultuously tilting and twirling inside of her chest that Quinn possessed.

"Then let's go," Quinn said, holding her hand out for Rachel to grasp; she helped the girl step into the car, no further questions asked.

* * *

Half an hour later found Quinn pulling off of the main backwoods highway she'd been traveling on to a dirt road that had seen better days.

It had been years since she'd last been here – in reality, at least. It had been the summer after her first year at college, and she'd come back to her hometown to spend a couple of weeks with her family (with Caleb). The drive was thirty minutes from Lima but only about an hour's time from the Fabray family home if they walked.

And it was a path Quinn and Caleb had walked often in their youth. Summer mornings and fall afternoons; snow days off from school, trudging through the snow; warm evenings in late spring.

For a moment as Quinn's car trudged mechanically over the ruts in the old road, Quinn wondered about her close proximity to her parents. And the oddest thing about the entire situation _wasn't_ that it was nearing three o'clock in the morning or the fact that Quinn's student and forbidden love interest was asleep in the passenger seat with her fingertips resting sleepily on top of the back of Quinn's hand – it was the fact that Russell and Judy were just a few miles to the southeast, and Quinn couldn't have cared less.

Quinn could've laughed from the sheer relief of that feeling – or lack thereof – but she didn't want to wake Rachel.

Unfortunately, the bumpiness of the road beneath her tires did that all on its own.

"Mmm..." Rachel sleepily mumbled, incoherencies slipping past her lips and causing Quinn to smile fondly.

"Hey," Quinn replied. She gently flipped her hand over, allowing Rachel's fingers to thread with hers. "You've just been asleep for twenty minutes or so. We're almost there."

With a slow nod, Rachel sank further into her seat, dropping her head back against the headrest. She didn't ask where they were going; it felt like one of the least important details of the night.

A couple of minutes later, Quinn's headlights showed another road – this one even smaller, less-used, and in even greater disrepair. She pulled off of the road and onto the new one, stopping the car and putting it into park. They were facing an old, rusty gate, held shut by an unlocked length of chain.

"Care to walk from here?" Quinn questioned. "It's not far."

Rachel nodded, and they got out of the car. Quinn unlatched the gate and pushed it open just enough for them to slip through, then she pushed it closed in their wake.

The cool night air tossed Quinn's long, loose locks of hair over her shoulder, and she was thankful for the braids she had secured earlier that evening because they were keeping it out of her face for the most part. Dirt crunched under the soles of their shoes, and long grass tickled their naked shins. Quinn walked forward with purpose, Rachel at her side, towards the tall oak tree in the middle of the field, the full moon lighting their way.

Somewhere inside Quinn's mind, she felt as if she wasn't allowed to take her eyes off of the tree – as if, were she to look away, it would start moving further and further from her, only to disappear entirely. As if in a dream; or maybe a dream of a dream...

There was a barn nearby, tall and abandoned to the elements for the most part. There was a smattering of smaller trees some distance off that grew into the woods Quinn and Caleb had trekked through innumerable times in their youth, an old, broken down tractor that Caleb used to play on, its red paint mostly faded to burnt shades of rust.

It was a short walk, as Quinn had promised, and it wasn't long before they were stepping into the shadow of the majestic tree. And then they were standing underneath the overhanging boughs of the old oak, and Quinn was dropping Rachel's hand as she moved towards a tire swing that hung from one of the highest branches.

Rachel stopped, content for the moment to watch the scene unfold – a scene that she still didn't quite understand. But she knew something important was happening for Quinn; and if it was important for Quinn, then it was important for her as well. She stood by, silent and still, and waited.

Quinn reached out and touched the rubber of the tire, her fingertips feeling for the familiar outline of the initials she and Caleb had left there years and years before. Her eyes traced over it, landing on the rope and following it upward into the meshwork of leaves and limbs above her. Long fingers gripped the lip of the tire as Quinn stared at the tree and the swing and the world around her.

And what her vision took in was an eerie semblance to the dream that hadn't quite been a dream she'd experienced; nothing but darkness thrown starkly into shades of grey. But this was real life, this was tangible existence – and still, the moon was casting its pale tendrils of light down all around her, and everything felt _grey_, if grey could be used as a true feeling.

Slamming her eyes shut, Quinn leaned downward into the swing for balance. This was reality, but it was tilting dangerously towards unreality. The dream she'd had – the fight to reach the tree, the miracle of finding a stranger there who wasn't really a stranger at all, the explosion of color across the grey landscape, the pain... It had all been so real to Quinn, and she had felt then that there was something precious that was hers, something that she was on the brink of losing entirely; even now, Quinn felt something pressing down on her, threatening to take away the best thing in her life–

Then a hand was sliding around her waist. Rachel's body was pressing fully against hers from behind, and Quinn's shaking body – which she hadn't even realized was shaking in the first place – began to still. One of her hands unclenched from the tire swing and moved to grab Rachel's forearm where the other girl had snaked it around her middle. A gentle pressure was being exerted by Rachel's frame along Quinn's spine and by strong arms as they wrapped her up completely, and Quinn wondered if Rachel knew that she was fulfilling some preordained role as protector, savior, lover in that moment.

"Why are we here, Quinn?"

Rachel's words didn't come until Quinn's body had calmed, until she was standing firmly on her own two feet with the now unnecessary but wholly welcome support of Rachel behind her. Hazel eyes were hidden behind closed lids, and she inhaled slowly. Opening her eyes as she exhaled, Quinn watched as the moisture from her lungs met the chilly night air, condensing into a fog before dissipating; and with it, whatever anxiety had fallen upon her.

"We met here, once," Quinn replied, still with her back pressed to Rachel's front. Fingers idly played with the hem of her shirt. "In a dream," she added, looking down and to her side, seeing Rachel's foot planted firmly behind her. "You saved me, Rach. You saved me when I didn't even realize I needed saving or what I needed saving from."

Quinn turned in Rachel's arms, her hands immediately moving to cup rosy cheeks as Rachel's hands moved into the small of her back. Rachel's eyes shimmered as her lips tilted upwards, not unfamiliar with the power of dreams – their ability to hurt, but also their power to heal. She looked into Quinn's eyes, she felt the relief ripple like some physical entity through Quinn's body, and she said, "There she is." The words came unbidden to Rachel's mind, but they seemed right as she looked into Quinn's eyes and felt a soul-deep connection click into place.

"Here I am," Quinn whispered back, and then she tilted her head and dipped slightly down, pressing her lips against Rachel's.

Their mouths parted slightly, without effort, inviting the other closer, deeper. One of Rachel's hands fisted into the material of the old sweatshirt Quinn was wearing, pressing their bodies nearer. Quinn took one impossible step forward, her legs now on either side of one of Rachel's own. Her hands delicately caressed the skin of Rachel's face, cupping her cheeks gently, as if _Rachel_ was the breakable one in the embrace; but they were both breakable, they were both fragile, and they were both counting on the other not to let them fall.

Together, their individual frailties seemed inconsequential. And while it didn't necessarily require a lip lock to produce feelings of invincibility, the kiss and the closeness it provided certainly didn't hurt. The way their tongues delicately touched and their breath mixed and their moans of passion blended produced something that felt achingly close to perfection.

The night was getting colder, but Quinn and Rachel were nothing if not on fire; in the moment, in each other. The exposed skin of Rachel's legs should have rippled with goosebumps in the brisk breeze, but the raised flesh was instead a result of the waves of pleasure rippling through her body from the contact of mouths and hands and the sheer lack of space between them.

Quinn, more fully clothed in loose sweats that sat low on her hips, should have been maintaining an adequate body temperature; instead, she was hot. In fact, she was positively burning up. A weaker-willed woman would have pulled Rachel to the ground on top of her, removed every last vestige of clothing to procure as much skin-on-skin contact as humanly possible.

On the other hand, a stronger-willed woman would have walked away from this months ago – wouldn't have noticed short skirts or sad eyes, wouldn't have longed so desperately to hear a voice voluntarily hidden away.

With a resurgence of longing born in the face of remembrance, Quinn pushed forward. Her tongue pressed further into Rachel's mouth, and she almost came undone when she felt the strong pressure of Rachel sucking on her tongue. Quinn's moan wasn't lost; instead, it reached out from her body into the moonlit darkness, disappearing upward into the air.

The closeness, the intensity of the moment was causing every sense to open up, to expand, to take in each detail of the night around them. The leaves rustled, crickets chirped, coyotes yipped somewhere off in the distance. If their eyes opened, they would see the slowly shortening shadow of the great oak as the moon continued its trajectory across the sky, the passing clouds, the clarity of the stars dotted across the inky blackness. Rachel tasted faintly of strawberries and chocolate to Quinn, and to Rachel, Quinn tasted like mint and traces of cinnamon. Inhaling deeply, the smell in the air was of a freshness that could only mean one thing: spring had happened upon them sometime in a flurry of post-it notes and love, and this was the perfect moment in which to realize it.

"I love you," Rachel gasped, nearly breathless, before snaking one of her hands up over Quinn's shoulder and pressing it hungrily to the base of the girl's neck, holding her close. Their kisses – which had before been long and deep – suddenly became short, punctuated by the more superficial pressing together of lips. The fire was still there, it was just manifesting differently; a controlled flame versus a raging blaze – still fiery and passionate but sustainable in a comforting way.

"Rach," Quinn said, pressing her lips against the corner of Rachel's mouth, capturing her bottom lip, then her top lip, the opposite corner, slowly savoring every millimeter. "I love you, too." It came out in a soft hush and carried a weight that wasn't oppressive but, instead, rested satisfyingly across Rachel's shoulders.

It felt good: to be loved without expectation but to be willing to give it all.

They swayed together, kissing slowly and softly, exploring hands touching backs, hips, sides, cheeks. Time was of little consequence until a sleepy yawn finally broke through Rachel's defenses. Naturally, Quinn yawned in response.

"What time is it?" Rachel asked, reaching up with both of her hands and resting them easily over Quinn's shoulders, lacing her fingers together to cup the back of Quinn's neck in her palms.

Quinn smiled sweetly before dragging her own hand up Rachel's arm and pulling one of her hands free, kissing the girl's palm before holding her wrist a few inches from her face. "A freckle past a hair," she proclaimed, after appearing to have studied Rachel's skin intently for a few seconds. With a grin, Rachel pushed onto her tiptoes and captured Quinn's lips in one last long, drawn out kiss. Then she leaned her head against Quinn's chest, and Quinn placed her cheek against the top of Rachel's still-styled hair.

"Thank you for coming with me," Quinn said.

But what Quinn didn't say was how much the night had represented for her: what it meant to come back here, everything she was saying goodbye to, the future she was ready and willing to embrace. She didn't speak the words, because she didn't need to. All of the answers were between the words, in the silence. And if there was one thing Rachel was intimately familiar with, it was the space between, the silence that embraced everything unspoken.

"Always," Rachel repeated her promise from earlier in the night.

Quinn's simple reply was, "Okay." And then she was wrapping her arm around Rachel's shoulder and steering the sleepy girl away from the oak and the tire swing and the initials _QF&CF_. As they reached the gate, Quinn opened it wide and let Rachel make her way to the nearby car. Quinn, however, turned back and stared, unwilling for just a moment longer to turn her back on the tree, the memories, the innocence of her youth.

It was with a smile and the realization that her future was waiting behind her – in the passenger seat of the car, buckled in, with a drowsy smile on her face – that Quinn was finally able to shut the gate and drive away.

Silence settled between them but was broken after a minute or two by Quinn. "Sing me a song?"

"What kind of song?" Rachel asked in return, shifting in her seat and smiling at Quinn's profile.

"Anything," came the easy response.

And so Rachel sang – softly, simply, and with her whole heart.

Half an hour later found them pulling back into Quinn's parking lot, after mild protestations from Rachel not to be dropped off at her house instead. Will was home, but it was past four o'clock in the morning, so he was definitely asleep.

"I'll practically just take a nap in your bed," Rachel said, batting her tired but still gorgeous eyes in Quinn's direction. "I'll be gone before he even gets up in the morning." And really, Quinn had just heard the girl sing song after song in her captivatingly beautiful voice; she was defenseless.

They fell into Quinn's bed as quietly as their mutual exhaustion would allow, and they sunk down into a peaceful slumber, enveloped in the arms of one another.

* * *

It was the clinking of pans emanating from the kitchen, down the hallway, and into Quinn's room that first clued her in to the grave mistake they had made.

Rachel sat bolt upright in bed, only to immediately shift her gaze back down to an unmoving Quinn. Quinn's eyes were wide open, belied by her motionlessness, and she quickly raised a finger and pressed it to her lips – as if _this_ had been the moment in which Rachel had planned on bursting out into the character of Fanny Brice with a loud rendition of _I'm The Greatest Star_, and Quinn's shushing signal was the only thing keeping her silent.

The banging of kitchenware stopped, and heavy footsteps were easily distinguishable as Quinn's roommate made his way down the hall. A knock on the door had both girls' eyes wide, jaws dropped, and covers up over their heads (as if that would make some kind of difference). "Quinn?" Will called through the door.

Since she was normally up before Will on Sunday mornings, if he was even in their apartment and not with Emma, Quinn hadn't really prepared for this situation. Though in all fairness, she had been in a Rachel Berry-induced haze the night before, so her judgment had been _far_ from clear, let alone trustworthy.

"Yeah?" Quinn called back, peeking her head out of the covers despite the rapid way Rachel was shaking her head in a disapproving gesture. Quinn just grimaced and shrugged her shoulders as if to say _What was I supposed to do?_

"Would you like pancakes?"

_Tell him you do not feel good_, Rachel signed.

_What good will that do?_ Quinn asked in return. _He will just want to come in and check on me or something_.

Rachel dramatically fell back onto the pillows behind her as Quinn replied, "Yeah Will, that sounds great! Thanks."

"Sure thing, they'll be up in just a couple minutes."

They listened to his footsteps disappear back down the hall to the kitchen before sitting up and throwing the comforter off of themselves. _What are we going to do?_ Rachel asked, signing with quick, deliberate gestures.

_Calm_, Quinn signed in return, taking a deep breath to emphasize her instruction, _I have a plan. Grab your shoes_.

Less than a minute later, Rachel was standing at Quinn's back behind her door. They'd hastily thrown the bed together and made themselves presentable enough for the outside world. Rachel was holding her shoes in her hands, bouncing back and forth nervously on the toes of her sock-clad feet.

_We make sure he is busy in the kitchen, then you get into the bathroom. I will get him in my room, then you quietly sneak out and get home. Okay?_

Rachel smiled and shook her head – not in a sign of disagreement but in an a form of acknowledgment that what they were about to do was absolutely insane.

And neither of them was yet willing to admit that it was their joint carelessness that had put them into this situation.

_Okay_, Rachel replied, but then she immediately threw her hands up, still gripping her shoes, and indicated that she needed a second. She tiptoed over to Quinn's desk and searched around for what, exactly, Quinn wasn't sure. But within a few seconds, Rachel was coming back towards her and pressing something into her palm. Kissing the corner of Quinn's lips, Rachel quietly whispered, "I can't believe you just have white ones."

Looking down, Quinn opened her hand and saw the **27** Rachel had written on the white sticky note she'd found on Quinn's desk. Quinn smiled and bit her lip before tilting her head towards the door, eliciting a nod of readiness from Rachel.

Quinn softly opened her bedroom door and looked around the jamb towards the kitchen. She couldn't see Will, but she could hear him singing an Aerosmith song, the falsetto likely something that the neighbors would be complaining about later; he wasn't going to hear Rachel sneak towards the bathroom, which she quickly did when Quinn indicated that the way was clear.

Successfully across the hall in the other room, Rachel turned back and blew Quinn a kiss before pushing the door nearly closed. Quinn bit her lip again to suppress a giggle and took a moment to breathe deeply before calling out, "Will? Could you come help me for a minute?"

His outrageously high-pitched singing halted, and Will came trotting down the hallway a few seconds later. "What's up?" he asked as Quinn opened her bedroom door completely and ushered him inside.

"My closet light," she replied, "it's burnt out, and I can't seem to get it unscrewed!"

Will was in her room and headed towards her closet, but Quinn remained standing in her doorway as she elaborated some more about her light bulb problems. Rachel opened the bathroom door with an incredulous expression on her face, signing to Quinn, _Really?!_

With a shrug, Quinn quickly gestured for Rachel to make her way down the hall, not waiting to watch the girl disappear as she followed Will into the closet. Immediately, Quinn pushed the door all the way back against the wall so that he wouldn't see her calendar of countdown post-its; she pressed her palm around the corner as she idly gestured at the light cover and expounded upon its difficultness, sticking the **27** post-it on the door's surface amongst its brethren.

At the same time, Rachel was stealthily making her way down the hallway, past the kitchen island, and slipping out the front door, closing it silently behind her. She slipped on her tennis shoes and was gone.

Back in Quinn's room, Will not only successfully took down the light cover, removed the light bulb that wasn't burnt out at all, and replaced it with a new one, he was also offering to fix the squeaky hinges of Quinn's closet door.

"No!" Quinn nearly shouted, clearing her voice at Will's shocked expression before speaking more softly. "No, that's fine, Will. I really appreciate your help."

"Anytime, Quinn. Now come eat your pancakes before they get cold!"

Will left the room and headed back towards the kitchen, happy at having successfully completed his light bulb changing task.

Quinn, on the other hand, was drooping against her closet door, gripping the handle to hold herself up. She was tired from having a grand total of about four hours of sleep the night previous, but she was also mentally and emotionally exhausted by the real threat of exposure they had just faced and miraculously defeated.

"Well," Quinn mumbled to herself, flicking her closet light off and moving towards the hallway, "at least no one will ever be able to claim I never put it all on the line."

It was weak justification for the risk they had taken, and Quinn knew it.

* * *

Shelby stood in front of the dryer, pulling one article of clothing out after another, folding them slowly, methodically. It was almost nine o'clock in the morning, and Rachel wasn't in the house.

Her first instinct had been to let Rachel sleep in after a night of prom excitement, but Shelby had gone against her better judgment, knocking on Rachel's cracked bedroom door. To her understandable shock, Rachel's bed had been empty; only her prom dress draped over the footboard was evidence that Rachel had been there at all in the early hours of the morning.

With a calmness born from the knowledge that Rachel was nothing if not responsible, Shelby had made her way down to the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove.

But it was with a heavy heart that Shelby had sat on the living room couch a few minutes later, hot mug of herbal tea between her palms. Besides eight full years of absolute, unequivocal silence, Rachel had never once acted out in any way whatsoever!

...So maybe Shelby was _sort of_ downplaying the innate rebelliousness that some would associate with Rachel's vow of silence, but she really didn't consider her daughter to be a trouble maker. Rachel had never snuck out before, to Shelby's knowledge; the girl hadn't even spent nights away from home with friends or gone out on dates – not besides the time spent in New York for her Juilliard audition or prom the night previous. But on both of those occasions, Rachel had been with either Quinn Fabray or her schoolmate, Patrick.

"Patrick!" Shelby suddenly gasped between sips of her drink as if some light bulb had become brightly illuminated in the space above her head.

It made sense! Shelby hadn't _actually_ seen his car drive away – admittedly, she may have been spying from the front window, but she'd stopped as soon as she thought she'd been found out. Even if he had left after dropping Rachel off, he could have just driven around the block and waited for Rachel to come back outside. There could have been a prom after party, it wasn't an absurd idea in the slightest. Rachel hadn't _asked_ to go anywhere after prom, and Shelby certainly couldn't foresee herself saying _no_ to such a request from her daughter; but the fact remained that Rachel _hadn't_ asked permission to leave the house. Wherever she had gone, she was worried about Shelby's approval.

And that both saddened and concerned Shelby greatly.

"Doesn't she know she can tell me anything?" Shelby wondered softly to herself, genuinely curious as to whether or not there was something more than just friendship going on between Rachel and Patrick.

She chose to ignore the pangs of hurt at the realization that, no, Rachel obviously _didn't_ think she could tell Shelby everything! Rachel hadn't told Shelby much of _anything_ in almost an entire decade – and while old habits die hard, some never die at all.

Shelby had pushed herself up from the couch, deposited her half-empty cup in the kitchen sink, no longer with any real thirst, and set to taking care of the laundry she had ignored finishing the night before.

A stack of towels was neatly folded on top of the dryer – the neatness starkly contrasting the jumble of thoughts in Shelby's head – when the creaking of the front door drew Shelby's attention in a spectacular fashion. She remained perfectly silent and still, waiting to see what Rachel would do.

She really shouldn't have been surprised when her 18-year old daughter made her way quietly up the stairs. Shelby was trying not to mentally use the word _sneaky_, but that was the impression she was getting, loud and clear despite the silence of the house. She didn't hear her daughter's bedroom door close, but she was certain it had.

They would both play the morning off as if it hadn't happened, Shelby knew. Rachel had been gone for no telling how long, and she wouldn't want to risk getting in trouble for not having asked – or at least _told_ – Shelby about leaving; and Shelby had noticed her daughter's absence, but she was afraid of asking about it for fear of avoidances and silence.

It was better, Shelby decided as she went back to folding the rest of the laundry, for some things to go seemingly unnoticed.

For now.

* * *

Quinn managed to delicately cross her legs in the cramped space of her assigned airplane seat. Passengers were still filing on as she grabbed her book that she'd already stuck into the seatback pocket in front of her, resting it in her lap. She closed her eyes, remembering the last time she'd flown – how she had been the comforting hand for Rachel on the girl's first ever flight. But now _Quinn_ was the one with a bundle of nerves in the pit of her stomach, because she was flying to D.C. to see her brother, and it was more than just a casual visit between siblings, more than the act of finally meeting his fiancée; it was about telling Caleb one of the hardest to reveal truths she'd ever dealt with in her life.

"Excuse me," a deep voice sounded above Quinn. She opened her eyes and glanced upward, quickly realizing that someone needed to take the window seat next to hers on the aisle. "If you don't mind, I think I'm the A to your B." He was just a couple of inches taller than Quinn when she stood to let him pass, and he had wavy brown hair and a charming smile that would have been disarming to Quinn in another life. He shrugged out of the blazer he had been wearing as he thanked her and took his seat.

They were alone in their row of two on the left side of the plane, and before long, the flight attendants were instructing them on emergency protocol as the plane began its taxi. They were informed that they were number nine in line for takeoff, and their mid-afternoon flight was about to get underway. Quinn thumbed along the edge of her book, idly flipping through the pages. Halfway through the book, she spotted the sticky note Rachel had given her that afternoon: **8-7-6**, it read, representing the entire weekend that Quinn was about to spend away from Lima.

Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw the _A to her B_ run his hands through his hair. It was almost involuntary, the way she turned to watch him do it once she realized it was happening, and before long, she was quietly laughing as she turned to glance back down at her lap.

"Sorry," he said, turning slightly sideways in his seat to look at her, "did I do something funny?" His tone was playful.

"No, no," Quinn said, waving her hand slightly. But then she realized she was lying. "Well, yes," she corrected. "It's just...I'm a big fan of _Grease_, and you totally reminded me of Danny Zuko just now."

"Wow," Seat A said, nodding his head and pursing his lips to hide the almost-embarrassed smile that was forming on his face. "You got me! Not many people call me out on that nervous habit, but it does happen on occasion. I really hate flying though. Unfortunately, it's part of the job. _Fortunately_, they compensate me well for it." His face relaxed a little bit as Quinn continued to chuckle to herself, crossing her legs again and settling in. He leaned back and to the side to better extend his arm towards her, palm out for a handshake. "Jesse," he said, "Jesse St. James."

Quinn took his hand and shook it firmly. "Quinn Fabray. Nice to meet you, Jesse St. James."

"Business or pleasure?" Jesse asked, trying to nonchalantly refrain from gripping the armrests overly tight or from Zuko-ing his hair again.

Contemplatively narrowing her eyes for a moment, Quinn nodded decisively before saying, "Pleasure. Yourself? I assume business..." she trailed off, leaving the statement open for him to finish.

"Business, most assuredly. I'm actually a talent scout. Mostly musical theatre, but I've dabbled elsewhere. Anyway, I was just making my way from Chicago to D.C. for a show I've got to see tonight and somehow ended up in Cleveland for three hours. How does that even happen?" He laughed as if it wasn't a question he really expected an answer to before leaning forward and lifting the window cover, peering outside and counting their position in line.

Quinn's eyebrows rose at the man's admitted profession, sensing that, perhaps, there was an opportunity to be had here. "Do you have a card?"

Jesse's brow rose to match Quinn's – an impressive feat – and then he reached into the inside pocket of the blazer he'd draped across one knee, extracting a card and handing it to her. "Do you know talent in Ohio, Miss Fabray?"

Quinn smiled before slipping the card carefully into the front cover of her book. "Just be glad you had a layover in Cleveland, St. James."

* * *

"I'll be hearing from you, Quinn," Jesse said kindly as he wheeled his carryon luggage behind him towards the airport's exit.

"Definitely. I hope the show you're seeing doesn't disappoint tonight! It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise!" And with a wave, Jesse was gone, disappearing into the rapidly dispersing crowd.

Quinn made her way to baggage claim, not having been efficient enough for a single carryon bag herself. She found carousel number three and was waiting patiently for the bags to arrive when she felt a tap on her right shoulder. Spinning around, Quinn came face to face with her little brother.

"Caleb!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and embracing him tightly. She kissed his cheek and smiled as he laughed in her ear.

"Quinn," Caleb said her name before signing, _I am so glad to see you!_ He was nearly bouncing on his toes in excitement. It really was good to see his sister, especially sans hospital.

After they got Quinn's bag, they linked their hands together as Caleb guided Quinn to where he'd parked his car. Once inside, Quinn was slipping her seatbelt across her chest when Caleb began signing again.

_How does dinner and a show sound for your first night in the city?_

With a grin, Quinn replied, "That sounds perfect. Will I be meeting Tina tonight?"

Caleb's smile nearly cracked his face in half. _Not at dinner,_ he replied, _but you will definitely see her at the show. She has the leading role!_

* * *

The Greenberg Theatre for the Performing Arts was intimate but elegant. Large wooden panels adorned the walls, creating both an aesthetically pleasing design but also one necessary for ideal acoustics.

Quinn and Caleb grabbed playbills, and Quinn chuckled to herself as she realized she was going to be watching yet another performance of _West Side Story_. And if Caleb's fiancée – whom Quinn had learned a _great_ deal about over dinner – was playing the lead, that meant that Quinn was destined to compare her performance to Rachel's from just over a month previous.

Unsure as to whether or not anyone could truly compare to Rachel's talent – and, sure, maybe she was a _little_ biased – Quinn was certainly willing to watch with an open mind, especially since Tina had both maturity and professional training on her side. After all, if Caleb's excitement was anything to go by, American University's musical theatre department was going to be putting on quite the show.

They had been early to arrive, and they'd taken their seats second row center only to begin chatting excitedly in ASL as the theatre filled up around them. Before long, every seat was occupied and the house lights were flickering to indicate that it was about to begin.

Instantly, Quinn lost Caleb's attention. She thought it was beautiful, really, to see how excited he was to watch Tina perform – it didn't matter that he couldn't hear her voice as she said her lines or hit every note; it was enough for him to see her passion for acting displayed on her face and in her movements, to watch the story unfold in facial expressions and body language and the rumbling beat of the music in his chest.

When Quinn first saw Tina as Maria, she was struck by the girl's beauty. With her rich, caramel skin tone and beautiful, dark hair with light strands weaving throughout, Tina was a an absolute vision. At one point just before the intermission, the girl hit a spectacular high note in a song, and the standing ovation as the curtain fell was – Quinn had no doubt – for Tina entirely. She looked over at her brother's face and instantly wished she could have picture-in-pictured the complete first act because Caleb's pride was a stunning sight to behold.

Together, Quinn and her little brother made their way out into the atrium to grab a drink. A couple of minutes later, they were standing next to a tall pillar off to one side, silently conversing. Quinn took a moment to really see her brother – to notice the way he'd cut his hair much shorter since Christmas time, the way the dark blue shirt and tie he was wearing really brought out the green in his eyes, so similarly to her own. As they talked, Quinn was thinking what a beautiful couple Tina and Caleb must make, the way their skin tones likely contrasted strikingly – it was an image Quinn herself was familiar with when it came to Rachel's skin against hers...

The thought only served as a reminder to Quinn that this weekend was about more than just being a supportive big sister.

"Quinn Fabray." The name rolled off of a sharp tongue from nearby, and Quinn instantly looked up and locked eyes with Jesse St. James.

She laughed and reached out to pull him into a short, friendly hug. "Wow, fancy seeing you here!" Her hands deftly signed the words even as she spoke them aloud, directing them to Jesse but easily filling Caleb in on what was being said by both parties. "Jesse, this is my brother, Caleb."

"Nice to meet you," Jesse said, extending his hand to give Caleb's a firm shake. "How did you all enjoy act one?"

Quinn was impressed with the way Caleb's apparent Deafness hadn't seemed to throw Jesse for a loop in the slightest. A common reaction was for hearing individuals to start speaking at a slower pace, to over enunciate, and that overcompensation often made it more difficult than ever for Caleb to follow along. Jesse obviously wasn't a stranger to conversing with the hearing impaired.

"I love it," Caleb spoke excitedly, clearly eager to brag about his girlfriend's talents. He switched to signing, nodding to Quinn briefly, indicating that he wanted her to translate, before he faced Jesse again. _My girlfriend is Maria. I may not be able to hear, but she makes me feel more with her presence than maybe any of you get to experience._

Jesse laughed and clapped Caleb on the shoulder. "Tina Cohen is your girlfriend?" he asked. "That's amazing. She's actually why I'm here tonight. The director is an old college friend of mine, and he told me I wouldn't want to miss out on this. And I tell you what, Caleb," Jesse leaned in, as if conspiring with Caleb and no one else in the room, even though Quinn was translating for him. "I can see what he was talking about. It's obvious that she's a star!"

_We actually recently got engaged_, Caleb practically gushed, _and you are right. She is a star, brightest one in my life_. He winked at Quinn, and she bumped her shoulder against his playfully. Caleb and Jesse continued to converse about Tina's previous role as Kim in _Miss Saigon_ and her future as a performer, all the while with Quinn interpreting and adding to the conversation as it went.

Later that night after the performance, Caleb greeted Tina with a kiss and a choppily whispered _"I'm so proud of you"_ against her cheek.

Quinn had never missed Rachel more.

* * *

The next morning, Quinn, Caleb, and Tina went for breakfast together at the diner a couple of blocks from Caleb's apartment.

"So Tina, tell me about this _Sue_." Quinn was genuinely curious about the supposedly difficult woman Caleb worked for; she'd heard a lot of things, but she wasn't entirely sure whether or not Caleb was exaggerating when he mentioned Sue's fierce aversion to curly-haired men, distrust of the homeless, or refusal to wear anything other than power suits and slicked back hair.

Across the booth from Quinn, Tina was sitting close to Caleb's side. She had one hand on Caleb's leg, and his hand was perched lightly on top of hers, fiddling with the engagement ring she wore. Tina gently disentangled their fingers to lift her hands and sign her answer so that Caleb knew what she was saying. It was fairly rudimentary, but Caleb had mentioned that she was improving quickly. And though Tina was signing for Caleb's benefit, he seemed content to do little more than sit and stare at her lips forever.

Quinn knew the feeling.

"You know," Tina began, "Caleb gets more of the so-called _hard ass Sue_–" here, she inserted finger quotes around the phrase "–than I do since he works there. I tend to just spend as much time as I do there because of him." She turned and smiled at her fiancé, and Caleb kissed the corner of her lips. Tina turned back to Quinn who was taking another bite of her breakfast omelet. "She's definitely a tough boss, but she's really just passionate about what she cares about. And when you see the gallery, you'll know that she's completely passionate about _art_. Just like this guy here," she said, gently nudging Caleb in the seat next to her.

"I know what you mean," Quinn replied. They lapsed into silence as the breakfast crowd swirled around them, a soft sea of movement and chattering and clinking of silverware. "I'm really glad to finally meet you, Tina." Tina tilted her head and bit her lip, crossing her hands over her heart. "Seriously," Quinn continued, smiling widely, "this family of ours is small but tight. New additions just aren't something we've had before, but I've seen for months now how happy your presence in my baby brother's life has made him."

"Well, we're sort of in love," Tina said, laughing when Caleb leaned his head down on her shoulder. She patted his cheek with her hand and kissed his forehead. "Thank you though, Quinn. That means a lot."

Quinn looked down at her plate, instinctively knowing – or at least believing, _hoping_ – that Caleb would never push her away, not from this loving unit they'd formed years and years ago; but the doubt was still there, and it made the conversation she had to have before the weekend was over that much more daunting.

Glancing up, Caleb caught her eye as he took a bite of bacon. He winked, and Quinn smiled back.

Maybe things would be okay. Quinn had to hope so.

* * *

"I run a tight ship here and allow for absolutely no tomfoolery or _shenanigans_ of any sort. I laugh in the face of adversity because I am a strong woman who has dealt with it her entire life, and it hasn't stopped me yet, nor will it ever. I metaphorically and sometimes literally _pounce_ when I spot even the smallest sign of weakness – whether it's in the form of another gallery competing to showcase a new, up-and-coming artist or in a race with extreme couponers to the checkout register. I don't apologize – I never have, and I certainly don't intend to start doing it now...– what did you say your name was again?"

Quinn snapped her jaw shut but couldn't quite manage to wipe the wide-eyed expression from her face as she answered. "Quinn."

"Right, Quinn, as I was saying," Sue Sylvester – gallery owner, lifetime hunting license holder, brief ultimate fighting dabbler, possible trained assassin, and rose garden enthusiast – continued. "This–" she gestured around at the walls as she put her arm around Quinn's shoulders and steered her away from Caleb and Tina. Quinn looked back over her shoulder helplessly as Tina giggled and Caleb waved goodbye to her in an overly dramatic fashion. "–is my _passion_. Art," she said, "is beautiful. Anyone can come in here, into _my_ gallery, and they can look at these walls. They don't have to know artist names, styles, or time periods, and they certainly don't have to know what some uppity WASPs sitting around an expensive table smoking Cubans and comparing their golf scores thinks constitutes _quality_. Good art is _engaging_, Quinn. Good art makes you _stop_, even when you're already standing still."

"I know what you mean," Quinn responded. They were stationed in front of a piece of work that Quinn couldn't have described in any great detail other than _black and white_ and _jagged_ and _futuristic _but certainly _captivating_. When Quinn thought about art – when she thought about truly feeling _moved_ – she thought about Rachel, not canvas or sculpture. Rachel, sitting onstage with a single light shining nearby, guitar in her lap, and words leaving her mouth for the first time in years.

_That _was art to Quinn. Reading Rachel's words over the first few months of school... Well, Sue had hit the nail on the head.

"Your brother has been working for me for quite some time now."

Quinn turned suddenly to take in Sue's stern profile, unsure as to where the change in topic had come from or where it was going. "Yes, he's been mentioning you for a couple of years now."

"He's a good kid," Sue said, "but I could honestly care less about that. What I do care about, Quinn, is _talent_. And your brother, he's got it in spades." Quinn nodded; she'd known _that_ since they were kids and Caleb was creating beautiful water color masterpieces (in the eyes of children) while Quinn was struggling with stick figures and opting for piano lessons instead.

"And as someone with an eye and a passionate heart, I assume he's not working for you by any accident," Quinn stated, moving to stand in front of the next piece on the massive expanse of wall before them.

"You're sharp, and you're right," Sue acknowledged, following along with her hands clasped behind her back. "Have you ever thought about a career outside of teaching? Perhaps management of some sort, maybe even sharpshooting?"

Quinn laughed as she shook her head and replied. "No, I haven't, and I don't intend to. But I know that you're the best of the best here, and as long as Caleb is _here_, he won't be doing himself any disservice by learning from you. I can tell you're a force to be reckoned with, Sue, and I appreciate you taking care of my brother."

Sue raised her chin and seemed to momentarily contemplate arguing that she absolutely _wasn't_ taking care of _anybody_... But then she simply nodded. "Nurturing talent is a talent itself. And I am quite the opposite of modest in that regard."

"Cocky?" Quinn supplied.

"No, no. I don't use that word."

Quinn laughed. "You know, I don't normally either, Sue."

* * *

_I like Sue_, Quinn signed.

Caleb chuckled – more with his body than with any real sound. _Somehow, I thought you might._

It was Saturday afternoon. They had dropped Tina off at the theatre for a read through with the rest of her cast before that night's performance. Quinn had almost been sad to see her go, genuinely having enjoyed her time with the other woman thus far and realizing that there wasn't that much time left to be had together before she would be heading back to Ohio.

But at least now Quinn had another shot at alone time with Caleb. And the used bookstore slash coffee shop they were sitting in exuded the perfect atmosphere. Caleb ran a hand through his hair – which always miraculously fell back into perfectly-styled place – and picked up his triple shot soy vanilla latte to taste. He made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, and Quinn took a drink of her own (far less caffeinated) iced tea.

_What do you think of New York City?_ Quinn asked, the question seeming somewhat abrupt for Caleb since he hadn't been privy to the churning thoughts in Quinn's head.

_I love NYC,_ he signed. _It's been a while since I've gone, but I think Tina's future lies there, you know?_ Quinn nodded, understanding substantially more than Caleb as of yet knew. _Why do you ask, Quinn?_

This was it. This was the moment. The opening Quinn had been hoping for had effortlessly presented itself before her, and now all she had to do was find the courage, say the words, and face the music (she preferred to face the metaphorical music rather than something grotesquely violent like a metaphorical firing squad).

_I might actually be getting a job there. At least, I am really hoping to get the job offer. They seemed interested, and I think I made a good impression when they called me a few weeks ago for an interview and_–

"Whoa," Caleb stuck his hand out, reaching to cover Quinn's rapidly moving ones. _Quinn, does this have anything to do with that person you told me you weren't seeing when I visited in December? _He tilted his head, wondering what other possible reason Quinn could have for wanting to leave Haverbrook for New York. _What, are things finally getting serious now, so you've decided to tell your little brother?_ The smile on his face leant just the softest edge to the moment; it was exactly what Quinn needed to hear, so she nodded in affirmation.

She picked up her glass and took another drink, annoyed with herself upon the realization that her hands were shaking ever so slightly, definitely against her will. The nerves would be easier to ignore if Caleb wasn't staring at her with such a knowing gaze. He had always done that, always been able to see right through her.

He'd always known her better than anyone else – better than Santana, and certainly better than their _parents_.

Quinn shouldn't have been surprised when Caleb slowly and emphatically signed, _I know about Rachel, Quinn_. But she _was_. She was absolutely shocked.

So much so, in fact, that she started blabbering almost instantly. "There's no possible way I could explain rationally," she began, her hands shaking harder than ever. Quinn was frustrated with herself beyond comprehension as she felt tears inexplicably prick at the corners of her eyes.

Before the tears could fully form, Caleb was scooting his chair closer to Quinn and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pressing his lips against her temple and whispering softly against the side of her face. "It's okay," he kept telling her, over and over. "It's okay, Quinn, I promise."

Quinn laughed and offhandedly signed, _Your speaking has gotten so much better in the past few months._ Caleb smiled, leaning into his sister. He had been working on his enunciation a lot since meeting Tina – since realizing that when he looked in her eyes, he saw something bigger than just himself. "I'm sorry for crying," Quinn whispered, knowing Caleb was reading her lips now.

_Don't be afraid, Quinn, especially of me... Do you love her?_ Quinn turned bright, fierce eyes in his direction. She nodded, and he believed her without trying. _That is all I need to know. There is no explaining love or what it makes us do. It is beautiful and wonderful in its simplicity, but also in its complexity. No one should ever fault you for that _– _no matter whom it is you share it with._

Quinn finally let the tears flow freely; it was clear that she was still going to have her brother's support, and that meant the world to her. She should've known, really, that there was no universe in which he _wouldn't_ have been supportive. But to finally have the only secret Quinn had ever kept from him no longer hidden and – better yet, accepted unequivocally – felt magnificent.

Quinn had been hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. And as she sat at the table with Caleb's arm around her shoulders, taking in each other's strength, she knew that he'd delivered to her the best possible outcome.

Unfortunately, Quinn knew that her preparation for the worst was bound to come in handy at some point.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed! There will be one more chapter.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:** I'm placing my author's note here, at the beginning, because I don't want the last thing you read to be my personal words of thanks. Because I truly am thankful – for every review, every private message, every single kind word you've bestowed upon me – and you deserve to know it upon the outset of reading this, the final chapter. It's been a long time coming, and it's been my great pleasure to share it with you. Please, enjoy, and note that there will not be an epilogue or a sequel.

**The Silence of Silence**

Quinn should have been surprised when the back door of the Lima Theatre was propped slightly open and that Rachel's angelic voice was already drifting towards her on the otherwise quiet air, but she wasn't.

After all, their respective orbits had been crashing together for months with little to no intervention or direction on their part. It made some strange semblance of sense that they would have both ended up here – wherever _here_ would've happened to be – at the same time, despite their independent intentions.

Having run across town to the theatre from her apartment, Quinn wiped the light sheen of sweat on her forehead away with the back of her hand. She used the other to pull the door open, dropping it silently back into place behind her.

From backstage, Quinn heard Rachel sing the final lines of a song, her voice fading beautifully away into nothingness, the chairs in the backmost rows of the room getting the last taste of the lyrics.

Quinn smiled, tilting her head in Rachel's direction as she walked onto the stage, across it, and down the small set of steps on the far side. All the while, Rachel's hands moved up and down, continuing to strum lightly through a major chord progression in a delicate but soothing pattern, occasionally plucking individual notes out with her fingertips. She watched Quinn's movements, smiling in her own sweet, unique way; a way that Quinn had convinced herself was reserved for her and no one else.

Pressing her palm to the smooth railing along the wall, Quinn walked up several of the theatre's steps before turning to move down a row to a seat on the left side of the audience. She sat down on the edge of her seat and momentarily allowed her eyes to shift to the chair next to her, the one she remembered taking next to Rachel when there had still been silence between them – silence, but also something more; something that had grown into the beautiful, tangible feeling that seemed to constantly resonate between them now and, perhaps, always would.

Her movements were slowed by something bigger than herself or Rachel or the room they were in as Quinn turned back towards the stage, resting her arms on the seatback in front of her and her chin on one wrist. Most of the lights in the building were out, but the ones that were lit shed enough light that each girl was able to clearly see the other. For a few moments, that was all they did – stare clearly and longingly as the lackadaisical movements of Rachel's hands filled the expanse of the room with sound.

Quinn watched with rapt attention and adoration as Rachel suddenly smiled brightly, ducking her head to the floor of the stage in front of her stool. It was easy for Quinn to see the indentation the other girl's teeth made as they bit gently at her bottom lip. A curtain of dark hair fell down over one shoulder, and Rachel shook it back out of her way as she started to strum with more purpose, a distinct melody cutting through the air.

And when Rachel began to sing, Quinn knew without a doubt what True Love felt like when it was directed straight at your heart, maybe even straight at your very soul.

_When I look into your eyes,  
It's like watching the night sky,  
Or a beautiful sunrise,  
There's so much they hold._

The first time Quinn had heard Rachel's voice, she had been a phantom in the shadows, a guest of whom Rachel had been unaware, an unknown spectator upon a scene of a rebirth, a reawakening. Now, Quinn could feel – with every beat, every breath, every inflection – that Rachel was singing each word for her.

_I won't give up on us,  
Even if the skies get rough,  
I'm giving you all my love,  
I'm still looking up._

Before Quinn even realized what was happening, there were tears streaming down her face of their own volition. For a moment, she contemplated when the last time was that she had cried tears of happiness, but she gave up almost instantly, realizing that searching her recent memory for such an occurrence was futile.

_We didn't break, we didn't burn,  
We had a lot to learn,  
How to bend without the world caving in.  
I had to learn what I've got,  
And what I'm not,  
And who I am._

Pride burst forth from Quinn in a fresh wave of silent tears. She reached to cover her mouth with one hand to keep any unwanted sounds from disturbing the stunning performance she was seeing onstage. Thoughts of the tribulations Rachel had gone through in her life, the silence that had surrounded her like a shroud for so long, the progress she had made, her beautiful words and heart and passion and dreams – they all rushed through Quinn's mind in a flurry of love and want. Quinn watched as Rachel's eyes momentarily closed, the volume of her strums increased, and the girl brought the song home with conviction.

Rachel finished the song in its entirety, soulfully crooning the words "_God knows we're worth it_" before softly singing the chorus one last time, letting the sounds of the guitar and her voice fade delicately up and away to the rafters.

No sound but the faint hum of the bright stage lights emanated through the silence of the theatre. It was late in the evening, and Quinn knew the sun would be setting on her as she made the run back to her apartment; but something kept her in the seat she'd reminiscently chosen. Rachel, in the same fashion, remained firmly planted on her stool, her arms crossing over the top of the guitar in her lap. They didn't say a word – they didn't use the shorthand ASL sign for "_I love you_", they didn't mouth words, they didn't blow kisses. They hardly even moved. Not even a sigh was emitted between the two of them, but it didn't matter.

_I love you,_ they were screaming through the silence.

_I am yours_, their hearts proclaimed readily and without reserve.

_Together.  
Always.  
We can do anything._

When an indiscernible length of time had passed by their stalled realities, the honk of a horn sounded from the back of the building. Quinn watched as Rachel again bit her lip, her shoulders rising as she took a deep breath, a breath deep enough for a great dive into icy depths. Breaking eye contact for only a moment, Rachel stood. Grasping the guitar in one hand, she flashed her startlingly bright eyes in Quinn's direction once more. Quinn felt as if Rachel was taking in her _everything_ – so she bared her soul through their locked gaze and hoped to be found worthy.

Without a wave or a nod or anything at all, really, besides the slight upward tilt of her lips, Rachel turned and disappeared behind a curtain and into the wing of the stage, making her way towards Shelby who, Quinn was sure, was waiting for her daughter outside.

Quinn knew that Rachel's warm, comforting silence was the greatest proclamation she could make that Quinn was more than worthy; and the performance she'd so willingly given, Quinn also knew, had been one of the most heartfelt declarations of love either of them had ever experienced.

It was a few minutes after that before Quinn was able to put enough trust in her legs to not only carry her back down the theatre steps and outside but all the way home as well.

It was the thought of a bright yellow post-it note on the back of her closet door with the boldly written number **3** on it that gave her the strength to finally try her legs at all.

And it was the thought of Rachel that had her falling onto her pillow that night with jumbled thoughts of graduation caps flying through the air and New York City and love.

* * *

The next morning, Quinn dragged her hand through her hair as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door, attempting not to be late for the second to last day of the school year. Finals were upon them, as was the feverish frenzy of the approaching graduation; the week had been full of excitement and nerves and the subtlety of shifting power between classes that inextricably occurred each year.

She was just twisting her key in the lock when her phone began to vibrate in her bag, the quietly chiming ringtone echoing down the otherwise deserted hallway. Quinn deftly turned, heading towards the stairs as she removed her phone from the confines of her bag with practiced ease. The number that flashed on the screen was one she didn't recognize, but the area code was vaguely familiar. The **917** pulsed as the caller continued to wait, and it was a shocking surge of realization that had Quinn finally answering the call with a breathless, "Hello?"

Trotting down the stairs to her car, Quinn's heart pounded – in a healthy, this-is-a-major-deal manner, her last visit with her doctor confirming that her medication was effectively doing its job to control her tachycardia – as she received a reply. "_Hello, my name is Mercedes Jones. With whom am I speaking?_"

"This is Quinn Fabray." She walked down the sidewalk to her car, unlocking it with a slightly trembling hand as Mercedes Jones continued.

"_Oh, wonderful! Miss Fabray, I'm calling from the New York School for the Deaf. I wanted to extend the offer from Vice Chancellor Hadley for you to come and teach with us this fall here in New York City._" There was a moment of silence in which Mercedes probably expected some form of acknowledgment from Quinn, but Quinn's world had stopped spinning momentarily, her free hand pressed firmly to the steering wheel and her jaw slack. "_Miss Fabray, we would love to have you on our faculty here at our school for the Deaf. The hiring process for our positions is typically very rigorous, and the position we're offering to you is no exception. Since the job is highly coveted and competitive, we need a verbal response from you within one week so that we can prepare appropriately._"

"Yes," Quinn replied, mentally patting herself on the back for not having stuttered the word out shakily. "I understand, and I appreciate the opportunity more than I can express! Thank you for the call, I assure you that it won't take me more than a week, but I will get back to you about the offer."

"_Great, we're excited to be extending this opportunity to you. I have your email address on file and will be sending you the details of your contract in the case that you do choose to accept, as we hope you will. Negotiations, if you deem them necessary, will be carried out within thirty days of your acceptance of the position._"

"Thank you so much," Quinn reiterated her appreciation, "I'll look for the email and get in touch with you soon."

As soon as the call ended, Quinn shakily dropped the hand holding her phone to her lap, the other coming up to press against her forehead. A wave of disbelief rushed over her, her body literally trembling in its wake, before another more powerful wave of excitement covered her instead. She had _earned_ this, she had worked hard, she had presented the best of herself – she _deserved_ this opportunity, she was sure of it.

Quinn put the car into reverse, beginning her drive to Haverbrook. It would be bittersweet to potentially leave behind the school she had dreamed of teaching at for so long, but maybe it had just been a stepping stone along her path in life. It had given her experience, confidence, love, and shelter. She had touched the lives of her students, she hoped, and had been gifted with the priceless treasure of teaching them what she had been able to over the course of a year.

And it was like Santana had told her – so long ago, it seemed.

_You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you. Just make sure you know which is which._

With a smile, Quinn realized that she was as certain now that New York was right for her as she had been ten months previous about Haverbrook. And the beauty of it was that she hadn't been wrong then, and she wasn't wrong now.

Quinn's heart may be slightly defective, but it was still hers – and she trusted it implicitly.

* * *

The **1** on the sticky note Quinn had found on her desk that morning was nothing more than a single straight line on a background of blue, but it was a representation of a whole lot more than that.

It was the end of a struggle, the culmination of innumerable, unforgettable experiences, and the beginning of something wonderfully hopeful.

Quinn's fingertips framed the edges where the post-it rested against the dark grain of her desk. She smiled, a drop of wetness running away down her cheek before she even realized it'd formed in the corner of her eye. She hastily wiped at it with the pad of her thumb, sniffling slightly and hoping that none of her class had noticed.

She looked up, taking in the students of her first hour class. She watched as several of them ducked their heads shyly or looked away, trying to pretend that they hadn't witnessed her short excursion into the overly emotional leaking of her tear ducts induced by, _she_ assumed _they_ had assumed, end of the year festivities and the fact that all of her senior English students were graduating, leaving, goodbye and farewell and all that.

The only student not looking away was Patrick. And Quinn knew within a moment that he understood where it was her emotions came from. He laid his soft gaze on her unwaveringly, and it was only a spare beat or two before he was smiling that smile Quinn remembered so fondly from the first day of class, eye crinkles and all.

Returning Patrick's smile, Quinn stood up to face the room. She moved to stand behind her podium at the front, a pillar of strength to stand behind.

"Today is our last day together," she spoke, her hands moving to sign the words with precision and care. "I have enjoyed every moment of it. Every lesson, every discussion, and every word you've written and shared with me. I've been able to watch you grow, watch your minds expand, and watch you become the capable young adults who sit before me now. But," she added, thinking of the woman she had been nine and a half months before, "_you_ have also helped to shape _me_. You've helped me grow, you've taught me to look beyond the boundaries of what I thought myself capable of, and you've reminded me that there is no challenge too big to handle or too tough to overcome. We are all bigger than our circumstances and greater than we ever imagined. Thank you," she said at last, attempting to ignore the tears that had exponentially multiplied since the first she'd brushed away. _Thank you_, she signed without speaking, and the class seemed to rise as one to meet her at the front of the room in a hug of mutual appreciation.

Quinn hadn't intended on making a speech, but life was too short, she decided, to hide admiration and gratitude from those in her life who were deserving of it.

As she hugged each of her students in turn, Quinn hoped that she would be able to deliver similar words to her fourth hour class without her gaze lingering overly long on one student in particular.

* * *

"I've been thinking about starting a glee club at McKinley."

Tossing a kernel of popped corn up into the air and deftly catching it in her mouth, Quinn turned her head in Will's direction.

"A glee club, hmm?" she questioned, already turning her attention back to Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor. _Singing in the Rain _was one of Will's favorite musicals, and they were already over an hour into it.

"Yeah," he replied, "I've really admired what you and Dalton have done over at Haverbrook. And under those circumstances, too."

Quinn made another humming sound of agreement in her voice, though there was a part of her that simply couldn't condone what Will had said; her kids were just like any other kids at the end of the day, and she didn't see why a show choir competition should make any difference at all.

"I'd just love to be a true performer, an actor, on Broadway," Will sighed. "Maybe in another life…"

The cell phone sitting in Quinn's lap vibrated almost imperceptibly as the movie continued to play out in front of her. She opened the message and smiled.

**I really want to see you tonight. **

Biting her lip, Quinn tried – and failed – to suppress her smile which, by now, was positively a ray of sunshine in the dimly lit room.

**One more day, Ray.**

Quinn wrote the words with little to no effort. They had been through so much, and school was over now – it shouldn't have been difficult to resist each other for another twenty-four hours or so.

**I really loved what you had to say during class today. Patrick mentioned that you were beautiful during his class as well.**

With her lips curling in an almost shy manner at the compliment, Quinn replied, **I'm really thankful for Haverbrook.** She paused for only a moment before adding, **And you.**

**I want to see you more than ever now, **came Rachel's reply. Quinn felt herself beginning to fold pathetically under minimal pressure; but she had to keep things as serious between them as possible with her reply to prevent Rachel's mind from wandering. However, Quinn's mind was racing and her center was throbbing and all she could think about was Rachel's everything.

**There's literally one day until graduation,** Quinn wrote, **and I'm excited to see you. I'm very proud of you, and I also have news for you, something to look forward to, you know.**

Rachel's reply was almost immediate, and Quinn should have expected it, she realized. **Now that's not fair in the slightest, Quinn Fabray! I'm pouting, and I hope you can feel it from all the way over here.**

If it wouldn't have alerted Will to her obvious mental turmoil, Quinn would've groaned out loud at Rachel's admission. It was truly frustrating how simultaneously short _and_ long twenty-four hours could seem to be.

* * *

A few blocks away, Rachel was watching the final scenes of _Funny Girl_ with her mother, a discernible sigh pouring forth from Shelby's lips as she watched a particularly emotional scene.

Rachel wasn't sure where exactly it was that Shelby got her dramatics.

As subtly as she could, Rachel unlocked her phone to view the most recent text she'd received, a reply from Quinn about her projected pouting.

**This is no time to start acting totally reckless.**

Instead of feeling chastised or guilty in any way whatsoever, the text only made Rachel feel more adventurous.

**Who said anything about being TOTALLY reckless?** Rachel answered in turn, a devious smirk playing across her lips as she turned back to Barbra onscreen and mouthed along with all of the lines. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shelby doing the same.

Quinn's next message didn't come through for several minutes – just long enough to have Rachel thinking that she might have pushed just a _little bit_ too far. But when it did come through, it gave Rachel the chills. **Will just got a call from Emma. He'll be out of the house in about half an hour.**

"Do you need another blanket?" Shelby asked, grabbing one off the back of the couch and handing it to her daughter without even looking in her direction. She'd felt Rachel shiver, so it was the polite thing to do.

"Thanks," Rachel quietly said. In her mind, she was already plotting her escape from the house.

Chat with Shelby about their mutual favorite film of all time upon its completion (including a brief discussion about the merits of its sequel); yawn dramatically (include the raising of arms above the head for further credit to alleged tiredness); give Shelby a hug and a kiss on the cheek (don't forget to mention something about graduation as you go as a reminder to her that you're growing up and all that); brush teeth (dental hygiene is important for full-body health as well as to avoid offending someone you may or may not be kissing later tonight); go to bed (but really just _go_ to bed, don't actually _go_ to bed); wait (im)patiently for Shelby to go to sleep; sneak downstairs and out the door (though really, _sneak_ is a nasty word – it will be more of a delicately light treading so as not to wake anyone from their peaceful slumber); run to Quinn (together is better).

Approximately fifty-seven minutes after fully outlining her plan, Rachel carried it out to perfection. The pavement pounded by beneath her feet in a blur illuminated only by the streetlights and the waxing moon, and a fleeting feeling of flying through the air caused her heart to soar in her chest.

The silence of the night greeted her as an old friend, guiding her home.

* * *

A knock lightly sounded through the apartment to where Quinn was sitting, perched on the edge of a chair in the living room. She felt out of her body in the moment, as if she was experiencing something ethereal, dreamlike. A sweeping sense of unreality brushed to and fro before her; one moment, she was in her body, sitting still, waiting, and the next, her cheek was against the cool wood of the front door, pressing closer to the knock, to Rachel, to her heart and other half.

"Come in." The words left her lips, but she couldn't recall having given them permission to form, let alone jump forth as they had. But the doorknob twisted, the hinges creaked, and Rachel was standing there across the room; suddenly, Quinn realized that her words had no need for permissions – they belonged to Rachel, had for a long time now.

Quinn was on her bare feet, padding across the hardwood floor in a split second, surging towards the woman she loved with urgency and need and a smile that shone more from her eyes than her lips.

Rachel closed the door behind her as Quinn approached, turning the lock into place. Before she had time to even open her mouth in greeting, Quinn was in front of her, pushing her back into the door by some invisible force. Their bodies weren't touching, but already, Rachel felt the licking flames of fire in every one of her nerve endings.

"Quinn," she breathed, not entirely convinced the attempt to speak the other woman's name had been successful but sure that her lips had formed around the name.

Hazel eyes were hidden as Quinn's eyelids slipped shut, her breath coming in smooth, even exhalations against Rachel's skin. Her hands came up, gliding so lightly over the features of Rachel's face that neither girl was sure whether they were actually touching or not.

"I can't say I'm disappointed to see you," Quinn said, her voice huskier than Rachel had maybe ever heard it before.

Rachel responded with a quietly whispered, "_Not everyone lives._" The passion in her voice was deep and profound and _sure_,and it was followed by a surge forward, her arms immediately encircling Quinn's neck as their mouths fiercely pressed together.

Thoughts of holding out for another day were almost brushed away entirely, only a vague vestige of restraint remaining. They had made it so far – since being swept up in Times Square in perfect kisses and loving declarations, the softness of hands being held, the safety of falling asleep in the arms of the other – without crossing a line. Many lines, they both knew, had not only been _crossed_ but had been left far, far behind over their time together and apart. The one line that remained had been kept sacred between them, uncrossed by some unspoken vow from the very beginning.

Even now, they wouldn't cross it; they simply _couldn't_ cross it, and they knew that.

But, _god_, did they need _something._

"Take me to your room," Rachel said, Quinn immediately swallowing her words and lifting Rachel up off of the ground. Agile legs wrapped around Quinn's waist as she blindly steered them down the hall and into her bedroom, not needing to be instructed twice.

She had always been a fast learner.

Rachel dropped her feet to the floor and used her momentum to spin them around, Quinn's backside now pressed neatly against the bed behind her with Rachel firmly against Quinn. Displaying a strength that Quinn had always suspected was there but hadn't as of yet witnessed, Rachel wrapped her hands around the backs of Quinn's thighs and physically hefted her into the middle of the bed. An utterly involuntary moan escaped from somewhere deep in Quinn's chest as her lover climbed on top of her.

"_Rach_," she gasped, overcome by the closeness, the sensation of Rachel's bare thigh pressing against her center through her clothes.

Without verbally responding, Rachel quickly leaned down to kiss the red, slightly swollen lips before her.

Quinn hadn't had a great number of lovers before in her life, and Rachel had a list with no bullet points at all; but in that moment, it didn't matter. The physical manifestation of the love and passion between two people had the potential to be a lot of things – gentle or rough, awkward or comfortable, full of laughter or sometimes even tears – but neither Quinn nor Rachel knew what it would hold for them.

With their bodies pressing together, their hearts beating in perfect time, the slight expanses of exposed skin creating an immensely satisfying friction between them, they existed together in no preconceived notion of what was _right_ or _good_ or _expected_ when it came to the physical interaction they were experiencing. There was no distinction between the gentle touch of hands on wrists or the rough scraping of nails in the small of a back; there was no realization of the almost awkward way in which their teeth bumped together amidst their passionate kisses or the comfortable way Rachel's hips grinded down only to be perfectly met by the upward thrust of Quinn's own; the almost relieved laughter that escaped both girls' mouths at finally feeling fully the other beneath them was not overshadowed by the presence of tears on cheeks in the blazing intensity of the moment they were sharing. The moment was their own, and the silence surpassed all of the noise, the static of existence beyond their world fading away.

They didn't shed a single article of clothing, and their hands managed not to wander beyond the line they'd drawn for themselves so many months previous; but when Rachel hit the threshold of her pleasure, bursting apart above Quinn like some glorious supernova, it took Quinn only a few seconds to feel her insides clench, for her breath to stall and her body to shatter into a million pieces only to coalesce again in the exact same moment.

"_I love you_," they both breathed out, one right after the other and in such a way that it didn't matter who had articulated the words first.

Rachel's body was completely limp, dead weight on top of Quinn's own loose limbs and still frame, but she didn't feel heavy – she felt perfect, a physical reminder that they were together and that the last indiscernible set of some minutes had actually happened.

Quinn tilted her head to the side and kissed Rachel's forehead, her lips lingering on what was hers. Somehow, she found the strength to raise her arm, and she brushed her fingertips through Rachel's disheveled hair. "I received a job offer in New York City," she said, delivering the news on the waning tide of their combined pleasure.

Rachel's head immediately lifted, her eyelids still heavy with a relaxation born from their shared, intense experience. "Is that the news you had for me?" she asked, quiet awe tangibly dripping from her words.

With a nod, Quinn confirmed that it was. "I haven't accepted yet. I wanted to make sure that it was okay with you first before—"

Her words were cut off, any following utterances lost as Rachel kissed her soundly and without reserve.

"The future is _so_ bright," Rachel sighed.

And because of the darkness that had encompassed Rachel's existence for so long, her words meant _everything_ – to both of them.

* * *

As they walked down the hallway towards the front door, Quinn looked down and marveled at the effortless way their fingers laced together so perfectly, her own hand trailing behind Rachel's as the other girl led the way. Rachel glanced back and caught the fond smile on Quinn's face, easily returning it before ducking her head to her chest.

Quinn reached forward and pulled the door open for Rachel, the other girl stepping out into the hallway. "Are you sure you don't want a ride home?" Quinn asked.

Nodding her head, Rachel replied, "I'm sure. A run sounds perfect, and I really don't want to risk Shelby hearing a car."

"Okay," Quinn whispered, leaning towards Rachel and kissing her sweetly on the lips. "Be safe."

Rachel looked up through her eyelashes as she began to back down the hall towards the stairs. "I'll see you at graduation."

"Meet you at the finish line," Quinn quietly called towards Rachel's retreating figure.

With a content sigh, Quinn closed the door. And it was then, with one hand on the doorknob and the other on the wall near the doorjamb, that a metaphorical bucket of ice-cold water seemed to spill over her head and down her entire body, leaving her cold and shaking and terrified.

The door hadn't been locked just now, but hadn't Rachel locked it behind her when she first arrived?

"Was that who I think it was?"

The question and the tone of voice in which it was delivered readily confirmed all of Quinn's doubts.

Spinning quickly on her toes, Quinn's eyes landed on the figure of Will. He was sitting in his customary seat in the living room, his elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled together beneath his chin. Quinn's jaw worked soundlessly and her feet seemed to be stuck in cement that was quickly drying and leaving her immobile and defenseless.

"Please," Will said, disgust lacing his words in such a way that had Quinn remembering Russell Fabray and his inability to grasp the concept that _love is love_ once upon a time, "tell me that was _not_ who I think…"

Quinn counted to ten slowly in her head, breathing deeply to slow her heart rate and attempt to express herself in an adequate fashion. It was clear that Will knew exactly who had just left their house. And, if Quinn's assumption was correct, he had probably heard a lot more than just their goodbyes.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for me to say at this point," Quinn responded simply.

Will stood, and Quinn had a passing fear that he was going to approach her with some form of physical threat; instead, he walked by her, giving her a wide berth as he moved towards the main hallway. The kitchen island was between them when he turned back and angrily bit out, "I know her mother, you know. We've worked together a lot at the theatre. And I can't even imagine how this will break her heart!"

The potential threat of Will telling Shelby before either Quinn or Rachel had the opportunity to do so themselves had Quinn's feet unsticking from the floor. She moved across the room, her hands landing on top of the island's counter as if to brace herself. Her mouth opened to speak, but Will stopped her with a raised hand.

"I won't say anything to Shelby, that's _your _responsibility. But this is _not_ right, and I'm… I had _so much_ _respect_ for you, Quinn. How could you do something like this?"

Quinn attempted to swallow, but it was as if her panic had physically manifested into a lump that was making it hard to _breathe_, let alone _talk_. "It's more complicated than I could ever get you to understand, Will."

Shaking his head and with his eyes glazing over as if in a slight haze himself, he replied, "My car got a flat tire a few blocks away. I walked back here because it's too dark out for me to do anything right now, and I forgot my cell phone and needed to call Emma." With a final shake of his head, he focused on Quinn once more. "_God_, how I wish I hadn't witnessed this." He turned and began to walk towards his bedroom, calling over his shoulder as he disappeared, "I think you've had long enough to settle yourself here in Lima. You won't need to live here anymore."

It was a sickening feeling, the dread that had engulfed Quinn completely, and it didn't seem to be dissipating at all. Will knew, and he had found out in the absolute worst way possible – likely at the worst _time_ possible, graduation being so near as it was.

Quinn dropped down onto one of the barstools, her palms grasping the back of her neck as her forehead rested on the counter. Time passed. Quinn remained still. Her mind raced away.

Will had effectively said that she was no longer welcome to live with him, but she would be moving to New York City – sooner, it appeared, rather than later. He had said that he wouldn't tell Shelby, which left it to her and Rachel to do so on their own terms. It hurt Quinn that Will now clearly thought less of her, but Quinn knew that her heart and her love for Rachel were pure and good. Rachel would be in New York soon as well, and they would get the new beginning that they so needed, a place free from expectations, a clean slate.

It hurt Quinn to know that she was obviously leaving Ohio with bad blood between Will and herself, but it was a small price to pay for what the future held.

Things could be better, but things could most definitely be worse.

* * *

The next day, Rachel awoke without the use of an alarm. She rolled over at precisely seven o'clock in the morning and turned it off before it even had the chance to ring.

She hopped out of bed and began dressing for the morning – which she knew would be spent cleaning and preparing for the after-graduation celebration she and Shelby were throwing. Her grandpa would be coming, bringing with him Rachel's only cousin; she hadn't seen either of them in a couple of Thanksgivings, and she most certainly hadn't been around them since she started speaking again.

It would be an interesting reunion, to say the least.

As she bounded down the stairs, Rachel felt light. Her lightness, however, was short-lived; as soon as she turned into the kitchen and saw Shelby sitting cross-legged and stone-faced at the dining room table, she knew something was wrong.

"Good morning," Rachel slowly said, almost hesitantly making her way over to the cupboard and grabbing a glass. A large gulp or three of water suddenly seemed necessary.

Shelby, it turned out, wasn't in the business of beating around the bush this morning.

"Where did you go last night?"

Gravity seemed to be working in overdrive, pulling Rachel down until she felt all of three feet tall. She was still filling her glass with water, and so she had a few seconds to compose herself; she may have been out of the practice of truly acting for eight years of her life, but she was an inherently brilliant actress at the end of the day, she was sure. As the water reached the brim of the glass, Rachel took a large swig, turning on the spot with a bright – but not overly so – smile on her face and a questioning tilt to her head. "What do you mean?" she asked, attempting to sound nonchalant and innocent.

It didn't work. Or at least, if it worked in the slightest, Shelby was determined to stand her ground.

"You know what I mean, Rachel. You left after I thought you had gone to bed and after you _obviously_ thought _I _had done the same. This isn't the first time I've noticed, but it is going to be the first time I call you out on it. So I'm asking you again, and I'd prefer if you didn't make me ask a third time: Where did you go last night?"

Both of Rachel's hands gripped her cold glass, and she stared down at her sock-clad feet on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. Her acting façade faded away bit by bit until she was just Rachel, until she was standing bare, exposed, before her mother – a woman who had loved her from day one with no conditional expectations placed on that love.

And yet… Rachel was still hesitant.

"I can't tell you," she finally said.

The look on Shelby's face instantly made Rachel flinch. Tears filled her mother's voice as she spoke. "You're growing up, honey, and I can't stop that. I've never _wanted_ to stop it, not since I first saw it happening at what I thought even then was far too young an age. But at the end of the day, I _am_ your mother. I deserve to know."

An uncomfortable amount of time passed; Rachel stood stock-still with her glass of water, and Shelby's fingertips relentlessly spun the saucer her cup of tea was sitting on. The clock on the wall ticked hundreds of times before Rachel took a step forward, then another step, and another, and another until she was standing with only the dining room table between them.

"I'm in a relationship," she finally said, her voice not nearly as strong as she wanted it to be.

"Rachel, that's hardly something to sneak around about and keep from me, I–"

The hopefulness in Shelby's voice was too much for Rachel to take, so she knew she had to interrupt. And she didn't want her admission of love to ever sound shaky, uncertain, or without resolve. When she spoke, her voice was clear and firm.

"With Quinn Fabray," she said. "I'm seeing Quinn Fabray. One wouldn't be incorrect to say that she is my girlfriend."

Rachel worried for several seconds that she had miraculously gained the infamous powers of Medusa, Shelby seeming to have been turned to stone beneath her gaze. She was just about to open her mouth again to speak when Shelby abruptly pushed back from the table, her chair legs scraping along the floor in a harshly loud sound for the quiet of the space.

A fierce gesture in her direction had Rachel's mouth snapping shut. She waited.

Shelby's back was turned to Rachel as she processed the information she had just been dealt.

For eight years, she had cared and provided for the beautiful little girl she had brought into the world after the family Shelby had helped to make complete had fallen apart at the seams. Raising Rachel herself had never been the plan when Shelby signed a contract with Brendon and Marcus Berry, but how could she refuse the little girl her home when they passed? She remembered with vivid clarity the drive to the Berry home, meeting Rachel for the first time since she'd given birth to her ten years before; she had been nearly overwhelmed by the realization that her love for her daughter had never lessened over their time apart. And the fact that Rachel no longer seemed willing to speak had been of little consequence at all – Shelby just wanted to give her a new home, a new start.

The silence of her daughter had been hard to handle at times, but it had gotten easier. Shelby also learned how to sign, desperate for any communication she could possibly maintain with Rachel. She fought tooth and nail to get Rachel into Haverbrook, despite the girl's ability to hear – that had been one of the most difficult battles of all. She'd done her best to involve Rachel in her community theatre projects, hoping that the creativity of others would spark the hidden kindling of talent she had known Rachel was hiding away.

The past year had been a rollercoaster of emotions for Shelby. She had seen the gradual change taking place in Rachel's demeanor dating back to nearly as early as October or November, and the world shifted out from under Shelby entirely when Rachel finally spoke to her, allowing Shelby what had been an exceptionally rare gift of hearing the voice she'd only ever heard on old home video tapes. But, as comprehension suddenly dawned on her regarding Rachel's disappearance on prom night, the question demanded to be answered—

"How long has this been going on?" She turned back to face Rachel now, and Rachel took a deep breath before falling back into her stoic silence.

Kneading the inside of her cheek between her teeth, Rachel turned and sat her empty glass down on the table. Her hands now free, she signed, _We kissed in New York._ Shelby looked nearly ready to scream, and Rachel could have guessed exactly why – she'd had months and months to envision every possible path to her mother's reaction, after all. She spoke again, this time out loud, but her hands accompanied her words, the familiar comfort of using ASL helping her to steady her thoughts. "Nothing has happened beyond that." This was a lie after the night previous, but Rachel hardly considered it worthwhile to anyone involved to admit it. "We struggled for months, Quinn most of all. I know you've seen me change, open up, speak and sing again. Mom, she played such a huge role in helping me see that my silence wasn't doing anyone any good. She helped me find myself, she helped me escape the silence. Maybe I would've gone through life silent and never really stopped to allow myself to question _why_ it was I was doing that, or maybe I would've snapped out of it on my own – I don't know for sure, but I _do _know that she reminded me that I had dreams once and that those dreams were worth remembering."

"So you fell in love with her because she saved you!" Shelby snapped, her knuckles white as she grasped the back of a chair.

"Absolutely not," Rachel argued. "If she saved me, she was only able to do so because I fell in love with something inside of her even before she tried. We have a connection, and it helped me to trust when I haven't truly trusted in years, not even in myself… This isn't hero worship or a gross manipulation of my feelings by an authority figure, and I refuse to let you try and demean or belittle what she and I share because of your insecurities. Think, Mom! Realize that I am still the girl I have _always _been, but that I now have a fantastically bright future – and realize that it is so bright because she has shown me how to shine."

Shelby shook her head but felt her love for her daughter already affecting her emotions; the anger was still there, but it was being outshone by compassion and love and an aching sadness that she couldn't yet control. "My trust in you... My trust in _her_, you both broke that in New York and again on the night of prom, if that's where you were."

Rachel nodded her head, her brows furrowing as her face contorted into a look of sorrow. "Yes. I'm so sorry for hiding the truth from you. I never meant to hurt you."

The long hand on the clock made several more ticks forward. Shelby stood with her head bowed towards the table. Rachel nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she waited. Finally, Shelby spoke again.

"I have such big dreams for you, Rachel," she said. "It's an inevitable circumstance of parenthood, I think. But all I really want, at the end of the day, is for you to be happy. I feel like I've come _so close_ to losing you _so_ many times, and I would be remiss to not acknowledge the changes I've witnessed in you over the past school year, changes for the better." Rachel nodded, remaining silent as Shelby continued. "I obviously need to have a conversation with Quinn," here, she smiled almost wryly in Rachel's direction, and Rachel's smile in return was as hopeful as she could possibly allow herself to be. "I'm not happy that this happened the way it did, but life is so often full of things we don't find pleasant – there's hardly time or energy to dwell on every single thing that doesn't go according to plan. You're happy, and I'll learn to find my happiness within that because you are my daughter, and I love you."

Rachel's heart constricted in her chest, and she raced around the table that separated them, nearly tripping over the leg of a chair, before throwing her arms around her mother. Tears streamed down Rachel's face as she murmured out words as best she could, words professing her appreciation and love for Shelby and all that she had done for her over the years.

But, most importantly, Rachel tried to express her gratitude for Shelby's acceptance – which seemed to be just as unconditional as her love had always been.

* * *

When Quinn had awoken earlier that morning, it had been to a text message from Rachel that very nearly had her heart stopping: **Shelby knows.** A second message had been sent, Rachel likely having realized the dreadful way the first message had sounded: **Everything is okay!**

It hadn't been the start to her day that she had expected in the slightest. There was always a tension Quinn felt when she was around Shelby – namely, the tension associated with the fact that she was in love with the woman's eighteen-year old daughter who also happened to be Quinn's student. It was tricky, and that was putting it lightly. Now, apparently, Quinn would likely be coming face-to-face with Shelby at Haverbrook's graduation ceremony that afternoon, and she lamented the fact that a confrontation was not only possibly, it was nearly guaranteed.

Quinn smoothed her hands along the back of her navy blue, form-fitting dress as she got into her car. She'd had one awkward moment earlier that morning when she had been getting ready, attempting to share the bathroom with a man who now thought her to be a despicable human being; she had hoped she and Will would be able to reconcile, to save their friendship before she left, but that now appeared to be a hope bred in futility.

As she was driving towards Haverbrook's modest football stadium where the graduation would take place, Quinn heard her cell phone ringing from her purse. She dug through the contents and pulled it out, quickly noting Santana's name flashing across the screen. Answering, Quinn said, "Hi there."

"_You text me something as vague and enticing as __**I'm moving to New York**__ and don't expect me to call?!_" Santana's lack of preamble was oddly characteristic of the woman's typical behavior, and the harsh normality of it all soothed Quinn in a way she hadn't anticipated.

"Nice to talk to you too, 'Ana. And I absolutely _did_ expect you to call, of course. How are you?"

"_Things are good,_" Santana sighed."_I'm at Britt's house right now. Her cat keeps staring at me, and I'm pretty sure he's plotting my demise for monopolizing so much of her time lately. I'm also pretty sure there's another ninja cat around here waiting to pounce on me the second I let my guard down…_"

"That does seem like typical cat behavior," Quinn replied, chuckling as she flipped on her blinker.

"_I'm sayin'!_" Santana said, and Quinn could practically see her friend throwing her arms up in exasperation. "_Now stop distracting me and tell me about New York._"

"I got the job at the New York School for the Deaf. They want me to start on the faculty this coming fall. It's a great school, and it's about an hour and a half long commute from Manhattan."

"_Manhattan,_" Santana interrupted, "_as in Juilliard._"

Quinn smiled and rolled her eyes. "Yes, 'Ana. Manhattan as in Juilliard. I'm really doing this."

Through the phone, Quinn heard Santana breath in and out deeply before she spoke again. "_I'm proud of you, Quinn, prouder than I think you know._"

"Thank you," Quinn replied. "Thank you so much."

They chatted inconsequentially about the logistics of Quinn's move to New York, graduation later that day and what it'd be like for Quinn to be around Rachel's mom ("_Have me on speed dial, I'll show up and go all Lima Heights to protect your honor if necessary_", Santana offered), their respective relationships, and the fact that Brittany had basically suggested that Santana move in with her (and soon).

"Be brave," Quinn said, "I know you have it in you."

"_Yeah, I think things will work out,_" Santana agreed. "_For both of us, you know?_"

Quinn nodded, though Santana couldn't see. "I love you, 'Ana."

"I love you too, Q."

They hung up just as Quinn pulled into the parking lot. She could see students in graduation gowns, friends and family dressed in their Sunday best, photographs being taken every few yards; the sun was bright and high in the sky, and there were just enough fluffy, white clouds to keep the temperature from being overly warm. It was a day made for a wonderful celebration.

But all Quinn could find within herself to think about yet again was how she'd been hoping for the best but preparing for the worst – and how that preparation could potentially pay off very, _very_ soon.

* * *

"Noah!" Rachel's grandpa called out exasperatedly from behind his camera, "Stop making faces, I swear…"

Grandpa Puckerman had had two sons, Marcus and Steven. No one ever really talked about Rachel's Uncle Steve when she was growing up, much like Rachel assumed people stopped talking about her dad at some point after he was gone; but Noah, being just a year older than Rachel, had always been around at their small family gatherings when she was growing up. He had consistently seemed like the type of _cool_ Rachel had never possessed the potential to be, and the mohawk he now sported was further proof of that.

"Alright, alright," Noah said, nudging Rachel in the side with his elbow and playfully winking at her. She smiled before turning back to the camera, her arm around his waist with his around her shoulder, and she wasn't surprised in the least when he stuck his tongue out as far as it could go when their grandpa tried to take another picture.

Having finally found a decent parking spot, Shelby walked over just as Grandpa Puckerman threw his hands to the heavens and exclaimed, "I give up!"

Laughing, Shelby eyed Noah – who was looking a bit _too_ innocent – and Rachel – who was giggling uncontrollably. "Here," she took the camera from Rachel's grandpa and prepared to snap a picture. "Now, you two, focus," she said. "_Or else_," she added, and the tone of her voice was just menacing enough to scare Noah into a real smile sans outrageous pose long enough for Shelby to digitize the moment forever. "See, that wasn't so hard." Her beaming smile belied none of the venom she had magically injected into her voice.

Noah gulped, and Rachel hid her renewed giggles behind her hand.

* * *

Quinn was still debating whether or not she wanted to try and avoid Rachel's family until after graduation when she somehow managed to run smack-dab into them just as they were ushering Rachel off to line up with her class.

"Miss Fabray!" Rachel exclaimed, rushing over to Quinn without pretense and giving her a hug.

For a moment, Quinn staggered under the pleasingly crushing hug and also the stark contrast between _this _Rachel and the one Quinn had met on the first day of class.

"_Miss_?" a boy standing just beyond Rachel asked, his hands crossed over his chest and his eyebrows bouncing as he eyed Quinn up and down. "You're a _teacher_?"

Rachel pulled back, clutching at her graduation cap that had been bumped askew; she smiled at Quinn before turning to address his question. "Noah, this is my English teacher, Miss Quinn Fabray. Miss Fabray, this is my cousin, Noah Puckerman, and my grandfather."

Quinn reached forward to shake first Grandpa Puckerman's hand and then Noah's. "_Smokin' hot_," Noah drawled as he shook her hand, nodding appreciatively. Rachel reached over and slapped the back of his head.

"And of course, you know my mom, Shelby." Rachel said these words with practiced ease, and Quinn wished she was capable of channeling an ounce of the calmness Rachel was exuding in an effortless fashion.

"Quinn," Shelby said, stepping forward into what Quinn was pretty sure constituted her own bubble of personal space. "It's good to see you again."

Quinn was convinced there was a predatory glint in Shelby's eyes as she got impossibly closer, and she was sure that a knife was about to be plunged into her back as Shelby made to give her a hug. But no stabbing pain erupted between her shoulder blades, and Quinn breathed out a sigh of relief as she said, "You as well, Shelby. It's always a pleasure."

"Well, this has just been wonderful," Rachel said as her mom and her clandestine lover pulled apart from their embrace. "But I have to get lined up. I'll see you all after graduation!"

"Love you, sweetheart," Shelby said, kissing Rachel's forehead before sending her on her way.

Grandpa Puckerman waved to her, and Noah shouted at her not to trip on the stairs.

The remaining four turned to walk into the stadium. "Do you have plans for after graduation?" Shelby asked, tilting her head in Quinn's direction.

Swallowing thickly, Quinn responded. "No, I don't, unless you count a night in with ice cream and a good book."

"Would you like to come over and spend the evening with us? We're just going to have some family time; cooking dinner and playing games on some contraption Noah brought with him. I'm sure Rachel would appreciate you being there."

Quinn's eyebrows furrowed, and she tried to delicately refuse even though she actually thought it sounded like an enticing offer – an enticing offer from a woman she had been legitimately worried would want to stab her or bodily throw her from the top of some high structure (football bleachers came to Quinn's mind immediately). "Thank you for the offer, Shelby, but I'm not sure—"

Grandpa Puckerman and Noah were making their way up the bleachers when Shelby stopped Quinn with a hand on her elbow. "_I_ would like you to be there as well. No more secrets, no more hiding. Rachel did that long enough all on her own, and I refuse to lose her again. You are important to her, and that makes you important to me."

Reaching her hand down to hold Shelby's where it was still resting on her elbow, Quinn replied, "I'll be there." With tears welling up in her eyes, she added, "I wouldn't miss it, not for anything in the world."

* * *

Shelby hadn't expected it to be easy to watch her baby girl graduate, but she _had_ expected to last more than three minutes into Pomp and Circumstance without crying. She proved herself wrong in spectacular fashion.

Up on stage, Quinn was faring far better amongst her fellow faculty members. She was bursting with pride, and not just for Rachel – for _all_ of her students. They held a special place in her heart, having been the first kids she'd ever really gotten the opportunity to teach, to nurture. Soon, they would be walking across the stage and receiving the diplomas that signified the end of a huge part of their existences as they had thus far known them.

Before that could happen, however, lots of speeches would be given – relayed via one of the faculty acting as a translator to be projected onto a large screen next to the stage, many of the students' parents being Deaf or hard of hearing themselves. And after many a kind word and heartfelt wishing of luck upon the graduating class, the show choir seniors would be given their chance to perform.

When the moment came, Rachel led her peers to the area that had been set up for them, sitting down at the piano as they all filed into formation close by. Mr. Rumba walked up, smiling at them all before cueing Rachel to begin.

The voices of the show choir rose up over the stadium, projected by the microphones and the signing of the translator near the stage; and whether or not any given person in the audience could hear, they were all moved by the performance.

_Imagine there's no heaven,  
It's easy if you try.  
No hell below us,  
Above us only sky.  
Imagine all the people,  
Living for today._

Quinn wiped at her eyes, valiantly trying to keep her mascara from running. In the stands, Shelby – and many other moms – had already failed spectacularly in the same endeavor.

_You, you may say  
I'm a dreamer,  
But I'm not the only one.  
I hope some day  
You'll join us,  
And the world will live as one._

The song concluded to a beautiful, near silent wave of applause from everyone in attendance.

Before the audience was given the opportunity to really even catch their breaths after the first song, Mr. Rumba counted the group into their second. This selection, much more upbeat, had people smiling, cheering, and singing along if they were capable of it.

_If you wake up and don't want to smile,  
If it takes just a little while,  
Open your eyes and look at the day,  
You'll see things in a different way._

_Don't stop thinking about tomorrow,_  
_Don't stop, it'll soon be here,_  
_It'll be better than before,_  
_Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone._

When the song was over, the show choir took their bows before returning to their seats, and Quinn was certain that the smiles on some of their faces wouldn't come free easily, if at all.

* * *

Over an hour later, after much grand ado, many diploma holders given and received, and innumerable pictures taken, each and every member of Haverbrook's graduating class pulled their caps from atop their heads and threw them up into the air with gusto.

The ceremony was over, schoolmates were finding each other for hugs and congratulations, friends and family members were searching for their children and loved ones amidst a sea of navy robes, and Quinn remained seated onstage with a quiet smile on her face. She watched from a distance as Rachel and Patrick found each other, hugging fiercely before Patrick was inundated by his own family members' appearances behind them. Several members of the show choir hugged Rachel as well, and then Noah had lifted Rachel up into the air, spinning her around before placing her back down on the ground, only to be embraced by her mom and Grandpa Puckerman.

Finally, Quinn lifted herself up out of her seat and walked down the stage steps, and she found herself unable to make it from point A to point B with ease of any sort, student after student stopping her for a hug and a word of thanks for her. By the time Quinn got even relatively close to Rachel and her family, she had been hugged a record number of times and her mascara was a lost cause.

"That was a beautiful ceremony," Grandpa Puckerman said, snapping a picture of a smiling Rachel.

She was smiling at Quinn's approaching figure, and it was a radiant smile indeed.

"Are we ready to go?" Shelby asked.

"Oh, hold on!" Rachel exclaimed, grabbing the top of her head suddenly. "I have to find my hat!"

"I hope you put your name in it," Noah mumbled, looking skeptically around at the piles of hats scattered over the football field.

"I'll meet you all by the car," Rachel said, not responding to her cousin before rushing off to search for her cap.

"We'll see you at our house in a bit, Quinn?" Shelby asked.

"Of course," Quinn replied, smiling sweetly. They all parted ways, weaving in and out of the crowd.

Back on the field, Rachel picked up hat after hat, not having found her own yet. After flipping over approximately thirty-three that didn't belong to her, Rachel finally found the one she had been wearing all day.

Inside the edges of the cap, pressed to the flat upper surface, was a white post-it note. On it, a beautiful – not in looks but in meaning – **0 **had been inked.

Rachel smiled, biting her lip as she clutched the cap with the sticky note securely inside close to her chest.

Quinn already had a mountain of them; this one was for Rachel to keep.

* * *

One delicious vegan lasagna, five full stomachs, one bottle of champagne split five ways, seven rounds of a karaoke game that brought out Shelby and Rachel's competitive sides (and clearly showed where the latter got her singing abilities from), and six hours later, the graduation celebration was winding down.

"It was nice to meet you, Fabray!" Noah called over his shoulder as he rocked out on a plastic guitar while simultaneously jumping back in to sing the lyrics (admittedly, very well) to a classic rock song.

"Bye, Noah!" Quinn called back. She would've said a proper goodbye to Grandpa Puckerman, but he was dozing on the couch in spite of all the noise his grandson was making.

Shelby walked with Quinn to the door, a soft smile on her lips that was difficult for Quinn to read for emotion.

"Thank you for coming, Quinn. It was good to spend more time with you." She reached out to touch Quinn's bare shoulder, lightly clasping it beneath her palm. Shelby paused a beat before continuing. "All I want for Rachel is happiness. It's all I've _ever_ wanted for her, really. I'm glad she's found it. Keep her happy, Quinn, that's all I can ask of you."

The two women embraced, Quinn whispering soft promises to do well by Shelby's daughter. As they broke apart, Rachel appeared just over Shelby's shoulder.

"I'm going to walk Quinn to her car, if that's alright."

Shelby nodded, squeezing the fingers of Rachel's right hand as she passed her; she headed back towards the kitchen, saying something about putting the leftovers from earlier in the evening away. Something told Rachel that they wouldn't be spied on tonight.

A few steps off of the front porch, Quinn felt Rachel's left hand sneaking into her right. She lifted their conjoined hands upward and placed a kiss across Rachel's knuckles before pressing the back of the girl's hand to her cheek. Rachel led them around the front of Quinn's car, stopping next to the driver's side door; the vehicle rested between them and the house, and a blanket of privacy was cast over them.

Quinn leaned back against the car, and Rachel rested her body fully against Quinn's. She wrapped her arms around a slender waist and pressed the side of her face against the beautifully thumping beat of Quinn's heart. Night had fallen heavily on Lima, and the cloudless heavens above left the stars exposed for their viewing pleasure. They looked up at the celestial bodies and allowed the quiet to surround them. After a few moments, Rachel spoke; her voice was soft but strong.

"So this is it," she said, "this is the finish line."

Quinn smiled, soft laughter escaping from her lips to warmly press against the top of Rachel's head. "It's a finish line of sorts, Rach, but we'll have others to cross before all is said and done."

Rachel smiled against the skin of Quinn's chest where her cheek rested, just above the neckline of the other girl's dress. "_Together?_" she questioned, wanting to hear Quinn speak the truth they both already knew.

Quinn shifted her hands from where they had been wrapped around Rachel's back. She delicately grasped Rachel's cheek with one hand, turning chocolate brown eyes up to her face; the fingers of her other hand laced with Rachel's, and the cogs of the universe clicked into place. With a feather light kiss to perfect lips, Quinn whispered with conviction, "_Of course._"

And with that, they walked away from their past and into their future – _together._

It began in silence, but it would end in quiet laughter and interlaced fingers and _love_.

* * *

**The End**


	31. Chapter 31

**The Silence of Silence**

**Some Time Later**

The night was hot and muggy, despite the rain that had poured from the sky earlier that afternoon. The windows were open, and the small space of their apartment was begging for a breeze.

Quinn repositioned her glasses and tilted her book so it caught the light from the lamp a bit better. She smiled as she read — not because the story was intriguing or even _good_, but because of the frustrated fidgetiness Rachel was displaying from three feet away at the other end of the couch they had bought together after four months in the city.

Underneath the quietness, Quinn knew there existed a great verbosity. But it was moments like these — when Rachel refused to say a word as she struggled with this or that problem — that Quinn was reminded of a different world, a world without Rachel Berry's voice. And, even then, she found it hard to accept that such a world had ever existed.

"It's summertime, you know. You're supposed to be traveling, or exploring in general, or doing things _for fun_. I don't know," Quinn gestured to the book in her hands, "Maybe even reading…for pleasure?"

Rachel's gaze didn't shift, not at first. But the corners of her lips tilted upward, and Quinn's did the same of their own accord.

"My dear, you know I have to finish grading this summer assignment."

"_The modern Broadway stage: A review_?" Quinn quoted, a hint of facetiousness in her voice. Rachel was the teaching assistant for one of Juilliard's summer programs, and she had been taking it all _very_ seriously since June.

"Someone with half a brain has to play a part in crafting the great minds to leave my institution after me, Quinn."

"Oh, I can definitely confirm that you have full brain capacity. Don't sell yourself short."

Rachel turned, then, and Quinn was struck by that intense gaze — the same one she had fallen in love with, when she probably shouldn't have even been looking in the first place.

"Mmm," Rachel hummed, "I've tried to stop doing that."

_I know_, Quinn lovingly replied, touching the tips of her fingers to her chest and then to her temple.

A moment passed. Rachel's eyes were alight, and Quinn was pretty sure hers must be behaving in a similar, watery fashion.

_I remember the moment I fell in love with you_, Rachel signed.

Quinn let out a soft breath of laughter before dipping her head to her chest. She could see it, she could see it perfectly.

"I know," she whispered, eyes closed. Then she turned her head to look at her girlfriend, reached out her hand and brushed her hair back, graced her fingertips down the side of Rachel's cheek. And she signed, _I remember, too_.

Maybe they thought of different moments. Or maybe their thoughts were one in the same.

A school bus carrying them home.  
A hotel room with a view.  
An abandoned parking lot.  
A nearly empty theater.  
Times Square.  
A dream…

It didn't really matter. All were equally true — for they fell in love over, and over, and over again, it seemed.

Papers and books were abandoned as they kissed.

And that was all right, in the end.

* * *

"Love wins. Love always wins." — _Tuesdays with Morrie_


End file.
